


Friends with Benefits

by gaudy_night



Series: Mutual Friends [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudy_night/pseuds/gaudy_night
Summary: A sequel of sorts to Mutual Friends.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne, Rachel Dawes & Bruce Wayne, Rachel Dawes & Jim Gordon, Rachel Dawes/Harvey Dent
Series: Mutual Friends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218932
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Theirs was an interesting if unconventional friendship. While Gordon appeared relaxed enough around her, Rachel suspected he was still wary of her sudden presence in both his professional and personal lives. Certainly, it was extraordinary circumstances that brought them together, the shadow of a certain Mutual Friend hovered about them continually, and it was all-too-convenient, the way their relationship had come about. Rachel herself detected a hint of “matchmaking” in the air, and yet how easily and without a word of protest, they’d slipped into their new roles.

At least she knew Gordon wasn’t just tolerating her. He had yet to turn down a casual invitation to share a meal together or to provide assistance with whatever was needed at the time. Whether it was out of duty and obligation to his partnership with said Mutual Friend or whether it was out of a genuine desire for the occasional company, it was clear the ‘arrangement’ wasn’t unwelcome to the lieutenant. Rachel, too, liked it just fine.

In fact, it was _perfect_. There were boundaries, of course, some of which Rachel hoped to demolish in due time. Gordon’s personal life – or rather, the lack of one – both troubled and fascinated her more than it should. Not that Rachel Dawes had herself struck the perfect balance between her own private and professional lives, but when the workload and pressures at the office grew to be too much, she had the means to escape if only for a little while. She had her girlfriends and diversions, and when all else failed, there was the always amusing Bruce Wayne whose ridiculous antics never failed to lighten her mood.

 _But what did Gordon have?_ she wondered. After all that he’d done for the city, she felt strongly that the man deserved to enjoy the occasional spoils of victory, too. It was only right.

Gotham was in full recovery, the chaos was finally beginning to subside, and the people were eager to reclaim their city. Contractors were at work throughout the city, rebuilding a newer, better Gotham, and day by day, they effected noticeable positive changes.

For Rachel, her work was not in vain, either. The cases against Falcone, Crane, and Ducard were rock-solid – all thanks to Batman and Lieutenant Gordon’s efforts. The resulting trials were mere formality more than anything else, and the final sound of the judge’s gavel filled her with overwhelming relief and satisfaction like nothing else.

After working day and night for weeks on end, Rachel would have loved nothing more than to take that theme of recovery and apply it to her personal life. And at any other time she would have. A brief vacation or even a weekend out of the city would have sufficed, but she – and others who believed in a better Gotham – had the momentum. They had waited and worked for too long to risk losing that, and she’d be damned if _she_ , an increasingly visible and to her satisfaction, a popular figure in local politics and news, hurt the movement.

Besides, she was more than capable of finding ways to amuse herself within city limits.

As various charitable groups organized to help raise funds for the city, Rachel Dawes received the usual ornate invitation, complete with gilded script on heavy stationery, and she dutifully attended those events. To her pleasant surprise, a familiar face often met her there. As she’d predicted, the power structure of Gotham was changing, and one of the most welcome changes to her was Lieutenant Jim Gordon’s regular appearance at those types of events.

The first time she saw him, she smiled. She was pleased to see he was doing a fine job of being ‘the face’ of Gotham PD. She smirked at him from across the room, knowing full well he would rather be chasing after criminals through narrow streets and filthy alleyways than making amusing, nonsensical small talk and drinking cocktails – but there he stood by the mayor and other luminaries, doing his duty and looking as pained as she knew he would. Jim Gordon did silent suffering better than anyone else.

She waited until he caught her eye, and she almost laughed out loud at the wave of pure relief that washed over his face. She smiled graciously and found her seat, counting silently in her head. Barely thirty seconds had passed when a cleared throat above her signaled her new friend had arrived.

They made awkward small talk, too – remarking on the weather, the other attendees, the purpose of this particular event – before it became obvious Gordon wasn’t planning on returning to the mayor’s side anytime soon.

Rachel knew that of course, but she made him work for this one. Finally, he rested his hand on the back of the empty chair next to hers, politely waiting for an invitation. Rachel merely smiled as she continued to survey the other attendants this evening, resplendent in evening dress.

Gordon cleared his throat again. Sheepishly now, he asked, “If this seat is available, may I…?”

Rachel, ever aware that more than a few glances were directed their way, nodded sweetly at him. Gordon countered her nod with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown even as he eagerly claimed the chair.

Rachel Dawes, a young, single assistant district attorney, and another rising star, Lieutenant Jim Gordon, just as single and just as available – if one read and believed the gossip columns – sitting together in a somewhat secluded table at the lavish gala drew plenty of approving nods – the mayor’s included.

Rachel stifled a laugh. It felt like high school all over again. Back then, she’d helped Bruce Wayne evade over-eager would-be paramours. Tonight it was her helping Jim Gordon evade, well, everyone else.

And it only made her laugh harder when Gordon, unaware of the attention their table was receiving, leaned in close and confided worriedly into her ear, “I can’t remember what I marked on the card. Did you order the salmon, chicken, or steak?”

She couldn’t resist. She turned her head and whispered into his ear, “I ordered the chicken, but the steak is good, too. Don’t worry. It’s not too late to change your order. Just let the server know when he comes to our table.” He nodded gravely in response.

And so began their unique friendship. Not fast friends, exactly, but close enough.

It was too good to be true. For him, it was a matter of convenience. For her, it was amusement, but Gordon took it upon himself to escort her to balls, galas, receptions, and other events to which they were both invited – and _expected_ to attend – muttering all the while how he had other, much better things to do. Rachel just gave him a long stare which Gordon was growing quite adept at returning, a hint of a smirk hiding underneath his iconic mustache.

To her, the informal ‘arrangement’ was simply an extension of their lunchtime appointments, the main difference being, they weren’t surrounded by affidavits and Gordon was wearing a much nicer suit. And it wasn’t an ‘arrangement,’ really. Gordon was especially careful to ask ahead if she already had ‘plans’ for a certain upcoming event, which Rachel translated as his way of giving her an out. She knew that, in his eyes, their ‘arrangement’ was more beneficial to him than to her. Of course, she was very conscious of his situation, but she could care less. So long as these fundraisers continued and she was strongly encouraged to and felt obligated to attend, she was going to attend them with someone she could reasonably enjoy the evening with.

Jim Gordon was that man.

Rachel was pleased to discover the man was a bit of a dry wit. It both amused and pleased her that Gordon wasn’t so painfully on guard in her presence any longer. Defenses lowered, she was able to get to know him better. Solicitous, warm, concerned. A gentleman in every sense of the word.

It wasn’t long before rumors of a romance between Gotham’s top cop and brilliant young prosecutor hit the newsstands. Gordon panicked and left at least half a dozen messages on her voicemail, apologizing profusely over and over again for putting her in what he termed an ‘unfortunate’ and ‘awkward’ position. Each message contained longer apologies than the previous one, and when the latest message contained a plea to cancel any and all mutual appearances which could attract notice and be misconstrued as ‘er, romantic,’ Rachel figured it was time to return the man’s calls.

“It’s _fine_ ,” she stressed repeatedly. “Don’t worry so much.”

Gordon remained silent on the other end of the line.

“Jim?”

“Rachel, I wouldn’t want to… discourage potential… suitors,” he said, his tone of voice regressing to the stiff, careful cadence of their early meetings in her office.

 _Suitors?_ She rolled her eyes at the positively antiquated term. She knew what he meant – _her_ suitors – but Rachel tested boundaries. “I’m cramping your style – is that it, Gordon?”

A long silence on the line. _Damn_. She was about to apologize for her impudence when Gordon surprised her.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said firmly.

She gasped audibly, and he laughed in pure delight.

“That’s – that was...” she said, unable to finish the sentence. She liked to amuse herself by keeping the man on his toes, but with a single word, a lone syllable, Gordon had quickly turned the tables on her. Apparently here was another hidden talent. A deadpan delivery. “That was _mean_ ,” she accused him.

Gordon laughed quietly. Then he spoke, seriously now, “I appreciate your… concern about my...” – he struggled for a moment – “about my… situation.” He sighed. “It’s fine. I can manage. But you don’t have to sacrifice _your_ – ”

His… _situation_. It could have meant any number of things, but Rachel was well aware this was the closest Gordon had ever come to openly revealing details of his personal life to her.

“I know what I’m doing, Jim,” she answered confidently. “I _do_. Trust me.”

 _Silence_.

“I trust you,” he said after some internal deliberation.

“Jim?”

“Yes?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I do get something out of this.”

“Aside from the pleasure of my company?”

Rachel gave an unladylike snort. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Then what?”

“You’ll see.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“You’d better believe it.”

“Should I be worried?”

 _Probably_ , she thought with a smile. “Good night, Jim.”

“Good night, Miss Dawes.”

* * *

It was a smokescreen, a temporary one at best, but it proved to be effective. Though the police department and especially the newly formed Major Crimes Unit were under close scrutiny, Lieutenant Gordon’s popularity with the masses continued to increase. Their little ‘charade’ no doubt contributed to that.

Gordon was concerned he was using her as a means of deflection from other, more personal areas of his life, but Rachel made it clear he should be far more concerned she was using _him_ for her own gains.

Enter Harvey Dent, another character in this burgeoning comedy of errors. The new district attorney himself and another one of Gotham’s rising stars.

Harvey Dent. Rachel had seen him at work countless times in the courtroom. Long ago, she’d predicted he would become district attorney one day. He had the drive. He had the charisma. He did much to restore public confidence in the District Attorney’s office. The man was a genius, indefatigable, and wholly committed to the same ideals of justice and integrity that she herself espoused. She admired that greatly.

She and Dent had always been friendly but both had been too ambitious, too busy with cases, too busy climbing the ladder of success for their relationship to be anything else. And yet, since news of her ‘relationship’ with Gordon began to make the rounds, Harvey Dent – the same man who had every female within a five-block radius fawning over him – he of the all-American blond good looks, natural charm, and self-confidence, had just as suddenly picked up the habit of visiting her office and staying longer than was strictly necessary.

Dent came by regularly now with a ready, teasing smile and plenty of amusing stories and courtroom anecdotes to tell, but the man never left her office without – much to Rachel’s amusement – inserting a snide remark about Gordon and Major Crimes before departing.

If she hadn’t grown immune to masculine charm at an early age – growing up alongside Bruce Wayne did that to a girl – she would have missed the distinct aroma of jealousy the newly elected DA brought with him. She figured, now with Gotham slowly but steadily coming back to order, that Dent, too, had found a little time, a little room to breathe as Rachel had.

While his grave concerns about the ‘reprehensible corruption and fraud’ within the GCPD was real enough, Rachel found herself… amused, which only caused Dent to expound even more forcefully of the importance of a full, thorough investigation of every cop – beginning with Jim Gordon and his men, of course.

Rachel could only smile. She wasn’t playing hard to get exactly, but it seemed to be working.


	2. Chapter 2

It was quickly growing to be a common occurrence at city hall, the sight of Jim Gordon rushing through the front doors to get to the mayor’s office to make his weekly report, his head down while weaving through the unceasing foot traffic in the main lobby and skillfully avoiding any and all who would stop him to have a word. And there were plenty who wanted his attention – reporters, city council members, managers at various levels of the city, and still others.

Rachel Dawes watched him rush by, a look of intense concentration on his face. Gordon was a very busy man these days. Major Crimes typically provided the morning headlines, and she had no doubt Gordon and his men were working around the clock to provide results the people wanted to see.

Gordon was more than ready for the challenge and more than likely relished the opportunity to bury himself in his work. Rachel knew the type, the workaholic who strived to meet more and more expectations, never coming up for air until it became a necessity. She was much the same, but she had a safeguard, friends and family ready to pull her back from the brink and provide refuge. She wasn’t sure what Gordon had, but it had been several days since they last spoke and it was a good time as any to pull him aside and find out.

“Jim!” she called out.

Gordon whipped around, and a look of genuine surprise crossed his face when he spotted her. “Miss Dawes,” he greeted. He walked quickly to where Rachel was standing. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“I figured,” she smiled. “Where’s the fire?”

He assumed a sheepish expression. “No fire,” he confessed. “None at the moment, anyway. I just – it helps when I look like I’m in a rush to leave. I don’t get stopped as often.”

“I understand,” she sympathized. “You’re looking well.”

It was the truth. Gordon had a more confident aura about him, his gaze was clear, and he looked every bit the part of a man with a mission and a purpose. But there was something else, too. Subtle changes in his wardrobe, the sort her feminine eye could not help but notice, nicely complemented the inward transformation. Today Gordon wore a nicely pressed, dark-colored suit of better quality than was his usual.

“You look very nice today,” she complimented him.

He shrugged. “Garcia, ah, _strongly suggested_ it would be ‘wise’ for me to” – he gestured vaguely at his ensemble – “invest in a new wardrobe. I seem to find myself in front of cameras and reporters a lot these days. It’s good for, um, ‘public image’ I believe is the term.”

“Ah, the price we pay.” She reached up to straighten his tie. “I like it,” she decided. “Did you pick this one out?”

He looked at her warily. “What if I did?”

“Nothing,” she said innocently. “I had no idea you knew how to match a suit and tie.”

“Very funny.”

She smiled at him, and he gave a wry grin in return.

A woman walked by with an approving smile at the two of them. Then another. Gordon cleared his throat and took a noticeable step back.

“Miss Dawes,” he murmured, all at once aware of the sensation they were causing, just the two of them having an innocent conversation.

“ _Rachel_ ,” she corrected.

She sensed him growing nervous and placed a hand on his arm to offer reassurance. Gordon nearly jumped, and Rachel ignored it pointedly. “I’m starving,” she demanded.

Startled, Gordon actually gave a small laugh. He glanced at his watch. “I missed breakfast this morning, and I haven’t eaten all day,” he offered tentatively. “So, unless you already have plans…?” He watched her closely.

“Jim Gordon, are you asking me out?” she asked coyly, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic fashion.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Actually, I think you’ve got it backward.”

“Are you buying?” Rachel smiled sweetly.

Gordon snorted. “Don’t I always?”

“Well, in that case, no, I don’t have plans. Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

They had turned to leave together when Gordon stopped. “ _Damn_. Give me a second? I forgot I needed to drop these off,” he said, indicating a folder he held in his hand. “It’ll only take a second.”

“No problem.”

She watched him go to the information desk and speak to the man sitting behind it. Then, as she stood in the middle of the lobby, patiently waiting for her ‘date,’ she heard her name called in a loud booming voice.

“Rachel Dawes!”

She didn’t need to turn around. She’d have recognized that voice anywhere. Harvey Dent.

She turned to see the man approaching her, his smile wide and his eyes twinkling at the sight of her. Rachel felt herself smiling in return until she saw Dent look beyond her shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. She turned to see what poor creature had earned his disapproval, and she saw Gordon standing no less than fifty feet away, his back turned to them, still talking to the man at the counter.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Dent spoke, drawing her attention back solely on him. His broad smile remained on her, but his eyes fixed on Gordon. “Listen, I’m on my way out. Would you care to join me for lunch?”

She felt unaccountably smug when she politely declined. “I’m sorry, Harvey. I wish I could, but I already have plans for today.”

Dent’s smile dimmed, and he looked over at Gordon in disbelief. “With _him?_ ” Rachel nodded demurely. “Jim _Gordon_? Oh, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel…” Dent tsked and shook his head in abject disappointment.

“Be nice, Harvey. Yes, with _him._ Jim asked me just before you got here.”

“I see.” Dent shrugged amiably. “Well, I won’t hold that against you.” Without batting a blonde eyelash, he asked boldly, “Do you already have any plans for tomorrow afternoon?”

“No,” Rachel said, amused. “Actually, I don’t.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll stop by your office later?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

Dent’s smile returned in full force. “Until then, Miss Dawes,” he said with a wink, walking toward the elevators but not before shooting another set of daggers at Gordon’s unsuspecting back.

Rachel smirked. It wasn’t seconds until Gordon came over in a little jog. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I got, uh, held up.”

“Not a problem,” she said, firmly taking his arm. “Let’s go.”

Gordon looked at her fingers curled around his bicep.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. Together they walked toward his car. “So, was that the new DA I saw you talking to?” asked Gordon.

“Harvey? You know full well it was. Isn’t that why you were ‘held up’ at the desk for so long?”

Gordon grinned sheepishly. “What did he want?”

She added, “Honestly? I think he would have liked to join us for lunch.”

Gordon grumbled something under his breath. It sounded like ‘two-faced,’ and Rachel immediately pinched him on the arm. “Be nice, Jim.”

Gordon scowled. “What’d you do that for?”

“You know why,” she said sternly. “I work _for_ him, you know. And _we_ three are all supposed to work _together_.”

Gordon assumed a look of feigned innocence. “I’m only repeating what I’ve heard.”

Rachel pinched him again, earning another grimace from the man. “I said, be nice, or I’ll introduce you to him next time we meet.” They reached his car where Gordon politely opened the passenger-side door for her.

Gordon muttered, “But I _was_ being nice.”

She smiled sweetly at him and got in, but not before taking a half-hearted swing at him with her purse. Gordon, laughing, managed to catch her arm mid-swing. At that moment, she saw a glimpse of what he might have been like years ago, before Sarah Essen left, before fear and mistrust took over.

“Defending Dent’s honor?” he teased, still grinning.

She opened her mouth to retort when she heard an unmistakable sound.

 _Click_.

Groaning inwardly at the intrusion, she could almost see tomorrow’s exclusive. _Rachel Dawes and Jim Gordon leave City Hall together for an afternoon delight? More pics of the lovebirds inside!_

“What?” asked Gordon in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

 _Click_.

He followed her gaze and saw the same photographer scurrying away, having gotten what he’d come for. Rachel watched him go, but all traces of humor were gone from Gordon’s face now. Rachel tugged at him. “It’s all right, remember?”

Gordon didn’t answer.

* * *

Ever the gentleman, Gordon allowed her to choose the venue for lunch, and Rachel surprised him by picking a low-key location, closer to a dive than a diner, the sort of place Gordon himself favored when in need of a peaceful, relaxing lunch hour. Rachel would have liked something a little more upscale, a place where the menus didn’t carry a thin film of grease on it, but she had her reasons, reasons Gordon would discover soon enough. Besides, the food was good, and it was close enough to both their offices that should something urgent come up, neither would be caught at a disadvantage.

A harried waitress greeted them at the door and instructed them to find someplace to sit. Gordon found a vacant table toward the back, far away from the windows and would-be prying eyes, and Rachel dutifully followed. He smiled gratefully at her as he pulled out a chair for her to sit. Then he took off his new suit coat and draped it across the back of his chair.

“I’m glad you chose this place,” he said as he sat down.

“Thought you might like it,” she said.

“Thanks.”

They sat in companionable silence, poring over the rather sparse menu.

“So, Harvey Dent,” Gordon murmured. “Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent…”

 _I saw him first_ , she wanted to joke, but she couldn’t do that. Instead, she sighed dramatically, “Are you going into over-protective big brother mode? I hope you know Bruce already tried that, and it didn’t work.”

Gordon shrugged noncommittally.

“Bruce _Wayne_ ,” she informed him, choosing that moment to segue smoothly into a topic she’d been wanting to bring up with Gordon for a while now. “And speaking of – ”

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” he responded. “I just don’t know if Dent can be trusted.”

“I’ve known him for a long time. Longer than I’ve known you,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Gordon answered rather primly.

“Well, I think it does.”

The same waitress came to take their order, and when they were alone once more, Rachel spoke in a far too casual manner. “Anyway, speaking of Bruce – ”

“Actually we were talking about _Dent_ ,” corrected Gordon firmly.

“Speaking of _Bruce_ ,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted her, “he brought your name up again the other day. Out of the blue. What do you think about that?”

“About Dent?”

“No, Jim,” she said patiently as if she were explaining to a small child. “ _Bruce_.”

“What about him?”

“That’s what I’m asking _you_.”

Gordon shrugged. “I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I think you do.”

He took a brand new handkerchief out of his back pocket and used it to clean his eyeglasses. Rachel recognized the nervous habit for what it was. Gordon fiddled with his glasses a little while before putting them back on. Rachel waited patiently for his answer.

“Why are you doing this, Rachel?” he asked tiredly.

She looked him straight in the eye. “Because I know a good thing when I see it,” she said seriously. “And he really wants to meet you. He won’t shut up about you. I have to admit, it’s getting annoying.”

Gordon played with the fork in front of him before he spoke carefully, not looking at her. “What did you tell him?”

“Jim,” she said, placing her hand over his on the table. “I promise you, not a word. Not a single word. Never even insinuated.”

He gave her a cautious smile. “I know,” he said quietly, even while carefully withdrawing his hand from under hers.

Rachel continued, gaining more confidence, “If anything, it’s been him who’s brought your name up every single time.” She smiled. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve got yourself a not-so-secret admirer, Lieutenant Gordon.”

“That’s… flattering, I suppose.”

“I’d rather stick with annoying,” she responded. “I think he’s actually begun watching the news – as frightening as that sounds. It’s always Jim Gordon _this_ , Jim Gordon _that_. He’s like a dog with a bone. Sometimes Bruce gets an idea in his head, and he won’t give up until – ”

Gordon interrupted, “Rachel, he’s – he’s a… young man.”

Rachel waited him out.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Rachel, you and I both know it’s not a good idea.”

“But you didn’t think _this_ ” – she gestured to the two of them enjoying lunch together in full public view – “was a good idea, either, and yet… here we are.”

“I still don’t,” he grumbled, “and yet you keep insisting on these little outings – ”

“And you keep footing the bill.”

“True,” he admitted. “Unless you want to start splitting the bill…?” he offered innocently.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at that. “Don’t change the subject, Jim.”

He sighed. “Rachel, your friend… that’s different. I just can’t.”

“Give me three good reasons, then,” she demanded.

“Three reasons…”

“Three reasons why I should stop encouraging you to have a good, fulfilling life.”

He frowned at the phrasing she used but chose to avoid that. “Three’s an awful lot.”

“ _Three_ ,” she insisted.

Gordon thought for a moment. “As I said, he’s a little young, don’t you think?”

“Bruce and I are the same age,” she countered with a roll of the eyes, and she safely tucked away this moment for future jokes at Gordon’s expense. “What’s the age difference? Ten years?”

“Try fifteen.”

“Ah, age is just a number. Give me another one.”

Gordon took several moments to phrase his second argument. “If you haven’t noticed, he… _attracts_ a lot of attention.”

“But of course he does. He’s _Bruce Wayne_.”

“Rachel,” Gordon pointed out, “you read the same newspapers I do. Your friend _burned down_ his own manor. He passed out drunk, and his _seventy-two-year-old_ butler had to physically drag him out of the fire.”

“Well, we all need a little excitement in our lives,” she answered lightly. “Give me another one. Inwardly she gritted her teeth. _Bruce, I’m going to kill you_ , she swore. The man, despite his notoriety and bank account, was clearly lacking whatever virtues Gordon deemed worthy of any consideration. Strangely enough, it hadn’t occurred to her before that Gordon actually might not be interested in the billionaire playboy. The thought made her frown.

“Third?” she prompted again.

Gordon sighed. “Rachel…”

“Give him a chance,” she challenged. “I know _I_ would.”

Gordon sat across from her, debating silently with himself once again. Finally, he spoke, “But… _Bruce Wayne_?” The name was uttered in both disbelief and exasperation. He leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “Are you sure he’s… I mean, what does he see in… I just don’t…” He rubbed his forehead. “But it doesn’t make any _sense_.”

“Maybe he just wants to talk.”

Gordon looked at her helplessly. “About _what_?”

“Whatever you want to talk about.”

“But he doesn’t want to – ”

“How do you know?” she asked in frustration. “You _don’t_ know. That’s the point, Jim. He wants to meet you, and I have a feeling you might be interested, too. In meeting him, I mean,” she quickly corrected. “What’s the matter, is he not your type?”

A slight flush rose to Gordon’s cheeks.

She took it as a good sign, but she decided to take pity on him as well. “Trust me, Jim?”

“You know I do.”

“But?”

“But…” The flush deepened. “I’m… I’m not as young as I used to be. And as… as flattering as this may be, I have too much to lose. And not just me. Times _have_ changed, but in some ways, they really are no different from when Sarah and I worked together. I wish things _were_ different, but they’re not. And I really can’t risk all of _this_.” He looked to see if she understood what he meant. The work they’d accomplished thus far. The city’s trust and respect. “It’s too important. More important, anyway, than my personal… and I accept that. All this to say… it’s fine, really. I really never expected to find… Maybe later on, but not now. Besides, it wouldn’t have worked out. But I appreciate your concern, really.”

She spoke gently, “I think you’re wrong.”

Jim shook his head. “I know I’m not.”

“No, not about everything. Just some things.”

He looked at her warily.

“Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?”

He looked away at that. She knew she was crossing the line here, but she’d figured not too long ago he wouldn’t have allowed her these liberties if he, too, didn’t see the importance of what she was offering him.

She went on, “Well, maybe…” A stroke of genius. “…maybe he is, too. You think you know who Bruce Wayne is from the papers and the television, but as we both know, not everything is what it seems.”

Gordon looked predictably skeptical, but he held his peace. Rachel knew she had him.

“I’m just asking you to get to know him. Please. It doesn’t have to become, you know, anything more than that.”

He shrugged noncommittally, but she could see she’d broken through the last of his defenses.

“Have dinner with us Friday night. Just dinner. With friends.”

Gordon spoke grudgingly, “I suppose you wouldn’t be pushing this crazy idea so hard if you didn’t think it had some benefits.”

“All I’m saying is, give him a chance, Jim. He may surprise you.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath.

Rachel went to her last resort, a full pout that had the power to melt any man’s resolve. At least that was what Bruce had told her.

“All right, all right,” Gordon finally surrendered. “Stop that.”

“You won’t regret it,” she promised, making a mental note to warn Bruce to be on his very best behavior that evening.

“What am I getting myself into?” Gordon shook his head. “Remind me never to run into you at lunchtime.”

“You’re such a charmer.”

He glared at her. “My life’s become nothing but complicated.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” she answered cheerfully.

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, in that case, you’re welcome.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “My pleasure,” he returned with a defeated sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

The three men in her life couldn’t be any more different. Even so, considering each man was a major public figure in Gotham, it was hard to believe that until tonight, not one man had met either of the other two, though certainly, each one was aware of the others’ existence and reputation. There were reasons, of course, but none of which couldn’t be easily resolved with time and opportunity.

Harvey’s distrust of – and not just of Gordon – but of the entire police department was legendary. The new district attorney and his internal affairs investigations were highly unpopular within the GCPD, and Gordon showed no signs of breaking ranks. For every snide comment about the police department that Dent fed into the daily news cycle, Gordon could just as easily counter with one of his own about the new DA. After all, as Gordon could personally testify, not everyone in the department was corrupt; however, as the lead prosecutor, Dent liked to operate on the notion of guilty until proven innocent.

Gordon, for his part, tended to avoid anything that required him to be in the public eye longer than was strictly necessary. Despite the whirlwind of publicity and organized chaos surrounding him, he preferred to remain under the radar and focus on the task at hand. He kept his head down, doing his best to go about his business as he did before everything changed. Rachel could have told him it was an exercise in futility, but Gordon informed her he was going to damn well keep trying.

Then there was Bruce Wayne, who lived to tantalize, to shock, to scandalize the masses. Paparazzi followed him everywhere, and like a newborn puppy, he happily lapped up, as Gordon had delicately put it, all the attention his very presence generated. The world at his well-heeled feet, Bruce easily traveled in social circles far loftier than Dent had managed thus far, and with Gordon having absolutely no desire to cultivate his social standing in any way, the two men – Bruce and Gordon, that is – without the assistance of one Rachel Dawes, would have never had reason to ever cross paths.

Tonight might be her – _their_ – only chance. She counted it as no small victory Gordon had actually agreed to meet the billionaire. Only by constant reassurance that tonight was a simple, friendly gathering between friends, both old and new, had she finally convinced the older man to stop finding excuses to back out.

She almost felt sorry for him and had even reconsidered the wisdom of playing matchmaker between two grown men, but all doubts were laid to rest when Gordon arrived at her doorstep to pick her up.

“You look very nice,” he said sincerely when she opened her door.

“Thank you,” she responded with a smile. Automatically Gordon reached for her coat and helped her put it on. “Thanks,” she said again. She checked her appearance one more time in the mirror. Satisfied, she moved toward the open door. Gordon held it and waited for her to pass before closing it behind them and then listening for the lock to click.

 _Why are you so paranoid?_ would normally be the next line in this familiar, choreographed exit, but tonight Rachel beamed at him. “Are you ready?”

A shy, nervous smile appeared on his face, but he nodded.

She looped her arm through his and led them down the hall. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

Gordon drove his car with the same look of intense concentration and worry he applied to almost everything else in his life. Rachel sat in the passenger seat, silently cataloging the man’s nervous tics. At the moment, Gordon’s fingers were loudly tapping against the steering wheel as he waited for the stoplight to turn green.

Rachel sat back, knowing better than to initiate a conversation on the way to the restaurant. Gordon was incredibly tense tonight, and one misplaced word from her might be all the excuse he needed to turn the car around. Again, she felt a slight pang of guilt for pushing him into accepting this dinner invitation. She was still very careful to observe personal boundaries where Gordon was concerned, particularly of this sort, but she tended to reason that he was a grown man fully capable of making his own decisions. He was a police lieutenant who commanded his own unit, for goodness’ sake!

But truly she felt sorry he was in such a disadvantaged position. Based on her nagging alone, Gordon had chosen to put himself in a very vulnerable position. As stunning as that was, she also felt very strongly Gordon was doing the right thing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but this – Bruce and Jim – felt right to her. She only hoped Gordon would feel the same sooner than later. She looked over at him, and she was pleased at least he was making a genuine effort. She’d asked him to give Bruce a chance, and apparently, Gordon was doing just that.

Tonight Gordon looked very sharp. He was wearing another one of his new suits – no doubt fresh from the dry cleaners that afternoon – and he looked very handsome, she thought. Nothing like Bruce, of course, who’d declared it was his duty to show the world how to dress, placing it on the same level of importance as Rachel’s work. What could she have done aside from rolling her eyes at his declaration? But it was quite a moment, Bruce Wayne taking ‘responsibility’ very seriously.

She studied her companion. Gordon had always been neat about his personal appearance, but tonight she could see he’d gotten a haircut, his fingernails were clean, and she thought she detected a hint of cologne in the air. She murmured approvingly.

Gordon looked over, a defensive expression on his face. “What?” he asked a little sharply.

“I think you look very handsome tonight,” she said courteously, and he gave her one of his patented eye rolls. “Well, you do,” she insisted.

As she knew he would, Gordon immediately turned the conversation away from him. “Anyway, I, um, I’ll probably need to leave the restaurant early. I’ve got another – I should probably meet with… our _Friend._ Later tonight. He hasn’t visited the MCU this past week.”

“I know, Jim. You’ve said that three times already.”

Gordon shrugged. “Well, just so you know.”

“I _know_.”

“All right, all right.”

They drove on.

Rachel interrupted the silence in the vehicle. “So, how does that work exactly?”

“How does what work?”

“Your meetings with our Mutual Friend. How do you know he’ll show up tonight?”

Gordon shrugged again. “I don’t.”

“This isn’t an elaborate excuse to duck out early, is it?” she accused him. “You said you were going to give Bruce a fair – ”

“I promise you, it isn’t.”

Rachel was puzzled. “Then why go?”

“Just in case he does.”

She thought about that. “And when’s the last time you had a decent night's sleep?”

Gordon appeared to be thinking the question over. “Does four-and-a-half hours last night count?”

“You’re crazy. You and he both.”

Gordon smiled at that. “It’s a small price to pay.”

Rachel frowned. “I’m not sure I like that. It doesn’t seem fair to you.”

“Oh, it’s more than fair. When the searchlight’s on,” he explained, eager to jump to Batman’s defense, “we see a significant drop in crime rate. _They_ know he’s out there. And I guess I just want him to know I’m there, too. If he needs anything.”

“I see. That’s very interesting,” she murmured, drawing a defensive look from her companion. “The drop in crime, I mean,” she lied.

As they passed under a row of streetlights, and she saw a glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. Gordon’s tiepin. She eyed the black and gold striped tie it adorned, a recent addition to his wardrobe that provided a welcome splash of color to his otherwise dark ensemble.

“I like your tie,” she said, a world of meaning in her voice. “Is it new?”

Gordon glanced over in suspicion. “Yeah – why?”

“It’s nice,” she commented, unable to suppress the insinuation in her voice. “It looks expensive.”

“Rachel,” he said patiently, “it’s nothing to get worked up over. It’s just a tie.”

“But of course.” She smiled smugly and allowed them both to pretend it was just that.

She thought it was a rather daring choice – for him, anyway. The man had come dressed to impress – but whether it was for Bruce Wayne or for their Mutual Friend, she was now wondering.

“Interesting,” she murmured under her breath.

Gordon looked over. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said innocently.

Gordon frowned at that, but they drove on.

* * *

When she’d told him where they were having dinner, Gordon had predictably protested. It was a _very_ public venue, one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham. Rachel had long ago grown accustomed to being seen with Bruce Wayne and was fully prepared to meet head-on a small army of photographers staked out at the restaurant’s gilded entrance. Gordon, on the other hand, appeared a little stunned, so much so that Rachel had to forcibly take him by the hand – _click_ – and march him through the foyer – _click_ – and across the restaurant – _click_ – to join Bruce Wayne at his table. _Click_.

Rachel smiled to herself. The game was going very well. She could already see the photographs in the papers tomorrow, with a small caption beneath coyly mentioning, _Rachel Dawes introduces Jim Gordon to an old childhood friend_. True enough, but with the two of them joined hand-in-hand, Jim standing anxiously beside her, it looked exactly what she wanted the entire world to see.

A while back, gossip hounds had attempted to link Bruce and her romantically, but the rumors were so laughable they died out before the ink had had time to dry. To her, Bruce was like a pesky brother, incorrigible, irresponsible, and utterly endearing. In essence, she had brought Gordon ‘home’ to meet her ‘family’ to see if he met with their approval.

 _Wedding bells next?_ the caption would speculate. She stifled a laugh.

“Hello, Bruce,” she said as he kissed her cheek in greeting. “Bruce, this is Jim Gordon. Jim, Bruce Wayne.”

Gordon extended his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you,” he said politely. “Rachel is always talking about you.”

Bruce took the offered hand – and held it. With a knowing smile, he gave Gordon a blatant and thorough appraisal. The older man froze, and Rachel thought she could actually see the color and bewilderment rising in Gordon’s face.

 _Click_.

 _Damn it._ Before Rachel could intervene, Bruce spoke, his eyes alit with devilish merriment, “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

Despite their nicely choreographed entrance – and it _was_ very well done, Rachel quietly congratulated herself – her carefully contrived scheme was quickly falling apart. One single handshake with the billionaire playboy himself and Gordon was rendered impotent.

Bruce did not release the other man’s hand until Gordon, with face flushed, stammered something or other in response, and Rachel could barely restrain herself from rolling her eyes at the ridiculous scene playing out in front of her. Clearly thrown off-balance by Bruce’s thorough appraisal, the older man, petrified, looked ready to bolt. Rachel glared daggers at Bruce, who in turn was grinning proudly – no, _sadistically_ at what he’d accomplished with so little effort. She could _kill_ him right now, but instead, she forced a pleasant smile onto her face.

“Why don’t we sit down?” she directed meaningfully at her old friend, and Bruce reluctantly released Gordon’s captive hand.

“Let’s!” Bruce chirped in response, but not before shooting a mischievous wink at Rachel behind Gordon’s unsuspecting back.

Gordon automatically pulled out a chair for Rachel, and she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze in return as she passed around him to sit down. She tried to catch his eye to give him another gesture of support and encouragement, but Gordon was most definitely _not_ making eye contact with anyone else at the moment. All at once, she felt a sharp pang of guilt for bringing him to this place and placing him in such a vulnerable and potentially humiliating position. She could only imagine what personal demons he’d had to overcome to accept her invitation to dinner tonight, no doubt many of which were at this very moment making their voices heard loudly once more. For the first time since she’d begun this little game of hers, Rachel Dawes experienced her own moment of self-doubt.

 _No matter_ , she thought, stubbornly pushing away those thoughts before they could claim a firm foothold in her mind. _We’re here now. No turning back_.

For several weeks now, she’d felt a deep certainty that this meeting between Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon was a _very_ good thing, and she’d be damned if a less-than-ideal introduction between the two men was going to make her question her own instincts. Of _course,_ she felt sympathy for Gordon. It would have been inhumane not to, and it would have been easier to pretend this dinner was merely an opportunity to introduce one good friend to another. It _was_ the truth – just not the _whole_ truth, and both of them knew it.

 _The road to hell is paved with good intentions_ , she thought. It was clear from the moment Gordon had accepted her invitation that this evening carried more significance for him than just meeting a new potential if improbable romantic partner. Now, as Gordon took his seat beside her, every one of his nervous habits was present and accounted for, so much so that Rachel felt a strong urge to reach over and shake some sense into the man. In their line of work, she and Gordon had learned long ago that full exposure often served as a double-edged sword, but she was determined tonight would be different. Rachel knew she hadn’t led him astray, and she dearly hoped that by the time this evening was over, his life would be changed for the better and not for the worse.

Jim Gordon deserved that much.

She just hadn’t factored into her plan whatever complications and mischief the other main character in this drama was determined to bring to the table. Bruce continued to aim his patented, shark-like grin directly at Gordon. Rachel sighed. Gordon she could handle. Bruce Wayne? _That_ was another story.

 _Damn the man and his unpredictability_. She narrowed her eyes at him even as he beamed innocently at her from across the table.

Such was the power of Bruce Wayne. Rachel dearly wished to roll her eyes just then, if only to get it out of her system once and for all. She knew all about Bruce Wayne’s impish ways and his magnetic personality and boyish charm, but this was just ridiculous. She’d figured Gordon would be immune to all that – of course, she knew there was far, far more to his reaction than being bowled over by Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but it made her feel less guilty to focus on “The Wayne Effect” rather than whatever deep, personal turmoil Gordon might be experiencing at the moment.

“The Wayne Effect,” indeed. What little Bruce had done earlier had thoroughly shaken the older man’s confidence. That much was obvious, and Bruce apparently took that as an invitation to keep Gordon on edge.

The trio sat down and immediately Bruce took up the reins of conversation, white teeth flashing, eyes twinkling, and grinning maddeningly all the while as he put on an admirable imitation of a police interrogator. The questions came in lightning-quick succession.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun, Mr. Gordon?” Bruce pestered the man. “Or should I go with Jim? Do you prefer Jim? Lieutenant?” Bruce frowned. “Lieu-te-nant Gor-don.” he said carefully as if he were weighing each syllable carefully. Then he issued an overly dramatic sigh. “Well, that sounds awfully formal, don’t you think? I can’t call you _that_. I think I’ll stick with Jim. Is that what Rachel calls you? Jim? I’m surprised I didn’t see you on the television this evening. You’re _always_ on, you know.” That last bit carried with it a hint of accusation.

“I… well… she… uh…” Tongue-tied, the older man made an admirable attempt to answer the questions in the order in which they came. He spoke carefully, “I… um… unfortunately, my job seems to occupy much of my time these days, Mr. Wayne, but I do try to, uh, when I find the time, that is, to… actually, ‘Jim’ is fine. Or-or ‘Gordon’ if you prefer. That’s what… Rachel… yes, she does.” He looked over at her for confirmation.

She dutifully nodded in response, and the lack of accusation and guile in Gordon’s eyes as he looked at her – it _hurt_. Rachel usually enjoyed torturing the poor man, and it provided her with endless hours of amusement – but only when _she_ was inflicting it on him. Sitting to Gordon’s right, she was an innocent bystander for once and it was painful to watch. She should have known Bruce was in one of his ‘moods.’ To be fair, the man had his moments of lucidity and awareness, but unfortunately tonight was apparently _not_ one of those nights and he seemed determined to put on quite a show. In any other man, she would have labeled this manic display of energy as a bad case of the nerves, but this was Bruce Wayne and no one else.

Gordon continued, sounding a little too apologetic for Rachel’s liking, “And I do try to avoid the press whenever I can. During an investigation, they aren’t always as… helpful as they think they’re being.”

“But they’re always so nice to _me_ ,” Bruce pointed out. “They like to take my picture, and they always keep me company while the valet brings up my car. Sometimes they’ll remind me if I’ve left something – or someone – behind. I’d say they’re _very_ helpful!” He looked to Gordon for agreement, and the other man, once again, looked at a complete loss for words.

Bruce looked pleased with that. The younger man’s eyes were positively alit with devilish merriment now. Rachel knew that look well and would have leaped into the conversation, but Bruce got there first.

“So, _Jim_ ,” he said, leaning forward, “it’s so good to finally meet you – ”

Gordon looked up in hope, and Rachel felt another pang of guilt.

“ – seeing as our dear Rachel here said you’ve been _dying_ to meet me.” Gotham’s Prince shrugged ‘modestly’ as if to say, _I can’t say I blame you_. “But I have to admit I was quite surprised,” exclaimed Bruce. “I thought to myself, whatever does Lieutenant Gordon want to do with little old me?” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively at that.

Under the table, Rachel raised her foot and tried to impale Bruce’s foot with her sharp heel. Unfortunately, she missed and her heel scraped against the hard granite floor, earning an odd look from Gordon for her efforts.

Seizing the opportunity, the billionaire continued, “I mean, you and Rachel, right?” He looked fondly across the table at his childhood friend. “Now _that_ was quite a surprise. But after all these years of rejection, I should have known she preferred dating older men. She’s always telling me how immature I’m being.”

“You thought I… we…” Gordon’s jaw literally dropped. “Uh… no, it’s not… actually Miss Dawes and me… we’re just… I came here to…” Realizing this could only end badly for all concerned, Rachel tried to halt that line of questioning, but Bruce had already moved on.

“So tell me. How did you two meet? How long have you been… _together_?”

“Jim, you don’t have to answer that – ” she advised at the same time Gordon opened his mouth.

“We work together,” answered Gordon in his typical, concise manner.

Bruce was listening now, an air of expectancy hovered about him. Rachel glared at him, and Gordon blinked twice before elaborating.

“We’ve worked on _cases_ together,” he added helpfully. Bruce tilted his head slightly to one side as if puzzled. “ _Criminal_ cases.” Gordon actually leaned forward. “Do – do you know how the justice system works, Mr. Wayne?” he asked cautiously in a hushed voice, and Rachel had to stifle a laugh. Gordon issued her a frown before turning back to face Bruce’s blank stare. “I – I could tell you if… if you want.”

“… Sure,” replied the billionaire noncommittally.

Gordon began to speak. The older man was obviously making some effort not to sound condescending, which only made him sound that much more patronizing, but he’d found himself some comfortable footing and was taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, my department – the major crimes unit – we handle the most serious crimes – or politically sensitive cases. We investigate any suspected wrongdoing, enforce the law, and if necessary, make an arrest.”

The vacant expression on the billionaire’s face did not change, and Gordon hurried to provide him with some more information about Gotham’s criminal justice system.

“Miss Dawes here – I’m sorry, _Rachel_ – her office seeks to prosecute – well, it’s her duty to explain to the court what crime was committed and to show evidence which we hope incriminates the accused and leads to a just conviction. You see, due process guarantees that every individual facing a possible – ”

By now, Bruce looked positively bored. A poor attempt by the younger man to stifle a yawn and Gordon closed his mouth abruptly. In a moment of panic, his eyes shot to Rachel for help.

“Rachel, perhaps you could explain it better…?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head, preferring to acquaint herself with the wine list than continue being an active participant in the train wreck this evening was quickly becoming.

“You’re doing fine, Jim,” she answered wryly. “Make sure you tell him about plea bargaining, too. Can’t leave that out.”

Wisely Gordon kept his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Bruce’s attention had already wandered. He waved down a waitress passing by and ordered drinks for the table. As the young girl left to fill their order, he gave her sashaying figure an appreciative once-over.

Gordon noticed, of course, and he quickly looked down in confusion. A deep frown and a tell-tale tightening of his lips was all Rachel needed to see. She watched him take a deep breath to gather himself before reaching over to pick up his glass of water. It seemed to her he was focusing too much on such a simple task, and without preamble, she lifted her foot and with a well-aimed kick, found her intended target.

“Ow!” Bruce exclaimed loudly and he found himself on the receiving end of one of Rachel’s patented “you’d best behave yourself, young man” glares.

Gordon coughed politely, and at that precise moment, his cell phone rang. Immediately his napkin was off his lap and onto the table. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” he said as he stood, not looking at either of the table’s other occupants. He walked swiftly toward the lobby, phone clutched tightly in hand.

Both Bruce and Rachel watched him go. Then she kicked him again.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Bruce Wayne!”

“ _What?_ ” he demanded, rubbing his shin and looking every inch the victim.

“ _Really_ , Bruce? _Really_?”

“What did I do now?”

“You _know_ exactly what you’re doing.”

In one motion, they both turned toward where Gordon stood in the middle of the lobby, one hand holding his cell phone to his ear and the other hand covering the other ear. Rachel supposed she should be mollified Bruce actually looked concerned about the other man, but just as quickly, the frown turned into a little smirk as his dark eyes traveled over the lieutenant’s slim form in a blatant display of lust.

She sighed. If only Bruce’s ‘regard’ for Gordon was different from the one he’d displayed toward their waitress earlier. At the rate the evening was going, she wouldn’t put it past Gordon to use the call as an excuse to leave earlier than he’d originally planned.

“Pull it together, won’t you,” she groused at her old friend. “If I recall correctly, it was _you_ who wanted to meet _him_ and wouldn’t shut up about it _._ So I’ve finally got him here. The least you could do is make some effort to be civilized. Lord knows _he_ is. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aw, come on. I’m just having a little fun. Did you _see_ the look on his face when I said that?” He grinned at the memory. “Priceless.”

“Well, stop it,” she said stiffly. “He’s a good man. He’s not like the” – she wrinkled her nose – “ _riff-raff_ you like to, ahem, associate with.”

“Oh, I _know_ ,” he said a trifle too smugly for her liking. “I’m thinking it’s gonna take more than a dinner and a show to get into Lieutenant Gordon’s – ”

“ _Bruce_!” she said sharply.

“All right, all right,” he said reluctantly. He looked over at Gordon once more, and Rachel could have sworn a switch had been turned off. Now Bruce Wayne actually looked… _thoughtful_.

“I’m not saying you can’t have fun, but just… don’t be too hard on him,” she advised.

And just when she thought she’d finally gotten through to him, he turned to her with a most wicked gleam in his eyes. “Well, there goes my plan for the rest of the evening,” he quipped.

“Ugh, you’re positively juvenile.”

Bruce grinned unrepentantly, and his eyes fixed back on Gordon. Rachel followed his gaze, and they both watched Gordon still in conversation and obviously with someone from the precinct. She knew that look well. Brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, a hand massaging where a headache had already begun to form. It was a familiar pose to anyone who knew the man. Gordon himself looked most displeased even as he gave rapid orders into the phone. Eventually, the conversation drew to a close, and he hung up, placing the phone in his jacket. Gordon began weaving his way through other tables, making his way back to them with quick, sure strides.

“He’s coming,” she warned, and immediately, she sensed Bruce opening his mouth to respond with an inappropriate comment. She beat him to the punch. “ _Don’t_.”

The billionaire raised his hands in a gesture of surrender but Rachel couldn’t leave it at that. He still looked much too innocent for her to ignore. She leaned across the table and hissed, “I swear, Bruce, if you mess this up, I will never, _ever_ – ”

“I’m so sorry about that,” said a familiar voice from behind her.

Gordon had returned. To Rachel’s great surprise, he did not couple his apology with an excuse to leave. Rather he sat down determinedly and rearranged his napkin on his lap. Needless to say, Rachel Dawes was very much impressed with him at the moment.

“It was the precinct,” he continued apologetically.

“Is everything all right?”

It was the very question she was about to ask, and the fact that Bruce Wayne beat her to it was a little bewildering. She wasn’t the only one surprised at the unexpected source of concern. Gordon did a perfect double-take before slowly nodding at the billionaire.

“What happened?”

Gordon turned until he was fully facing Bruce. “It was a… false alarm,” he said slowly.

Rachel knew that careful tone well, having heard it several times in courtrooms in recent months. Gordon was telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

“Do you need to leave?” Bruce asked, and Rachel stared in awe at the legitimate concern on display. Bruce Wayne actually looked anxious about something that had nothing to do with him, and Rachel made a mental note to praise him afterward to encourage this good behavior.

Gordon took a few seconds to respond, and she could tell he was over-thinking his responses again.

“You – you’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Mr. Wayne,” he answered.

The words were uttered so quietly, so seriously that Rachel gasped, but Bruce, after a minute’s pause, threw his head back and laughed so long and hard that half the restaurant turned to see what Bruce Wayne thought was so damn amusing.

Gordon looked pleased if wary at the reaction he’d elicited from the other man.

“Fair enough, fair enough,” responded Bruce when he’d finally gotten himself under control. He signaled for a waiter to come to their table. He smiled directly at Gordon. “I think we can get started. Shall we order?”

All tension instantly vanished. Bruce cheerfully recited his order to the waiter and then nodded to them to do likewise. Gordon followed suit, and wonder of wonders, for the first time that evening the man actually looked comfortable in his surroundings.

Rachel’s mouth hung open. _What the hell just happened?_

* * *

“It’s nice to have an evening off, isn’t it?” Bruce wondered aloud to the table in general as he finished the last bite of his dessert. He leaned back and let the waiter collect the empty plates from their table. “Once in a while?”

Gordon nodded solemnly, and Rachel murmured her agreement, still in recovery from the unexpected turn their evening had taken. Apparently, that kick under the table had done a world of good.

Dinner had been most excellent, the service prompt, the conversation light, Bruce was being his usual scintillating self minus the self-absorption and brattiness, and not to be outdone, Gordon appeared to be holding his own, his wry demeanor providing a most amusing counterpoint to Bruce’s incredulous if comical commentaries.

The three sat in silence sipping the wine Bruce had chosen for the evening, savoring its taste. To her right, Rachel could sense Gordon growing anxious once more, the older man’s mind scrambling for anything to keep the momentum going. Once again, surprisingly, it wasn’t her who came to the rescue.

Keeping his tone light and conversational, Bruce spoke, “Rachel often talks about how well the city is doing these days – ”

Of course, she hadn’t, not to Bruce, anyway, but she nodded gamely back in agreement. _Where does he think he’s going with this?_

“ – and she never fails to mention you and this – this _Batman_ creature.”

Gordon tensed beside her but held his silence.

Rachel spoke for him. “Official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight,” she recited from memory.

Bruce casually dismissed that with a wave of his wine glass. “But Alfred says everyone gives Batman far too much credit.”

Gordon cleared his throat. “I – I don’t think they give him _enough_. _”_

Rachel raised an eyebrow at the strong feeling behind that statement, as well as Gordon’s blatant and public defense of their Mutual Friend. She knew Commissioner Loeb would be furious if he knew.

“No, no, no.” Bruce shook his head. “You misunderstand me. Alfred says – ”

“Alfred?”

“Oh!” Bruce exclaimed, and he rushed to fill in the blanks. “ _Everyone_ knows who Alfred is. He’s my butler. He raised me after my parents were… when they died. He looks after me and makes sure I stay out of trouble.” He added proudly, “He says I’m responsible for every gray hair on his head.”

Gordon’s brow furrowed a bit, but he nodded his acceptance. “I see.”

“Anyway, he’s lived here for _decades_ , and he says he’s never seen anything like this. The police force reinvigorated, the people encouraged. It’s an amazing thing, but Alfred tells me _you_ deserve just as much credit for what’s happening.”

Rachel murmured her agreement. She knew the hours upon hours Gordon worked these days for every little success the police force saw. While their Mutual Friend might be carrying the banner high, Gordon and his men were putting their lives on the line each day as well and keeping Gotham safe both in the daylight and nighttime hours.

Gordon, of course, was quick to deflect by going into one of his classic sound bites. “Gotham is very fortunate to have…” he began. Invariably, these ended with Gordon gratefully acknowledging the men and women of the GCPD for their unceasing efforts to keep Gotham safe for all and thanking other ‘concerned citizens’ for also taking a stand against crime and corruption. Not one single word about the sleepless nights and long days he’d grown accustomed to. Not one word about any personal sacrifices he’d made to help keep Gotham moving in the right direction.

Rachel intervened, “ _No_ , Jim. Alfred’s right.”

“No, Rachel – ” began Gordon.

Bruce interrupted. “Of course he is,” he said with some asperity. “Alfred’s always right – even when he’s wrong.”

“Jim, if it weren’t for you – ” Rachel began, hoping to finally get the man to acknowledge his own contributions to the revolution they were experiencing. Batman was just one man and working from the outside at that, but Gordon was one man, too, working from _inside_ the system to change it. Batman worked quickly and effectively with his fists, but Gordon had had to learn how to function effectively within a great bureaucracy, to work within laws that both accommodated and constricted, and to communicate with multiple departments and units, not to mention a police commissioner, a mayor and a city council who insisted on being ‘informed’ every step of the way, all while leading a small army of police officers whose trust he’d managed to gain and keep, even while fully cooperating with Harvey Dent’s internal affair investigations to root out bent cops.

“No, if it weren’t for _Batman_ ,” Gordon corrected her gently, and Rachel sighed. Gordon’s acute case of hero worship was becoming annoying and increasingly obvious, so much so that even Bruce himself looked displeased as well.

 _Serves you right_ , she thought, _after what you put Jim through earlier this evening_.

Gordon spoke with whole-hearted admiration while fumbling to find the right words to convey his thoughts. “He’s really started something. We have hope once again. I can’t tell you the difference it’s made within the department. I _know_ what the policy is, but my people and I – we actually have the advantage. Crooked cops are running scared. The people trust us. My men and I – we feel very proud to wear this.” In the palm of his hand, he held an old brass police badge, dented and scratched multiple times. He looked at it for a moment before placing it back in his back pocket. “It’s been a long time since I could honestly say that. If only for that, I can’t thank him enough.”

A strange silence fell over the table. Rachel attempted to dissect it. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but there was a profundity about that couldn’t be ignored. Gordon himself looked a little embarrassed at his little speech. Finally, Bruce cleared his throat. “Amen to that,” he said solemnly. “You know, Alfred says…” And the conversation continued without a hitch.

 _Thank God for Alfred Pennyworth_ , Rachel thought, relaxing back in her chair. _And thank God for Bruce Wayne’s ability to quote his butler verbatim_.

It was a little far-fetched to think Bruce had read or watched enough of the news to know what was going on exactly, but she could almost hear Alfred’s voice in Bruce’s as the two men carried on in conversation.

Alfred would have been pleased.

The two men talked about the city, which was always a comfortable topic for Gordon. Bruce had managed to engage Gordon in conversation about the newly established major crimes unit and some needs the department had. As long as he wasn’t talking about himself or working to deflect attention from his life, professional or personal, he was fine. In fact, she could almost see Gordon dropping his guard as he gave thoughtful answers to Bruce’s questions. Not that Gordon would ever betray his men or lose his head, but it was nice to see him relaxed for once. Every now and then, he had even revealed a glimpse of his dry humor she’d come to know.

As pleased as Rachel was, she couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy. She’d thought it was her special talent and hers alone to wear Jim Gordon down, and yet here was Bruce Wayne ferreting out personal information about the man she herself had taken weeks to discover.

Even when Bruce mentioned the near-destruction of Wayne Tower and the utter demolition of Gotham’s rail system, a legacy of the late Thomas Wayne’s, Gordon stiffened but did not immediately go on the defensive.

“About that…” he began sheepishly.

Wayne just laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. No one was hurt.” It was miraculous but true. “Mr. Fox explained everything to me,” he said in casual dismissal before launching into a story about a boyhood hobby. Model trains, of all things.

Gordon listened intently but he managed to catch Rachel’s eyes with a triumphant grin. During one of Rachel’s earlier efforts to draw him out, he’d made the mistake of confessing that he harbored a secret passion for railway models, a hobby that Rachel had quickly informed him was, to put it mildly, out of touch with the modern world.

She tipped her head in an apology but Gordon’s eyes were already fixated on Wayne’s, and they chatted about that for a little while. Then the two men moved on to other diversions.

“You never answered my question,” Bruce lightly chided the older man.

“Your question?”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“My job does occupy much of my time, but I – I like to go jogging.”

“So do I. How often do you run?”

Gordon nodded. “Almost every day. When I can. A few miles in the morning to start off the day.”

Bruce nodded approvingly.

Rachel sulked. _How come he’s never told me that before?_ She felt irrationally betrayed.

Gordon opened his mouth to elaborate when his cell phone began to beep. He reached into his pocket to pull it out. One look at the screen, his eyebrows rose in surprise, and he returned it to the pocket. Rachel frowned. The beeping noise had sounded more like a set alarm than a ringtone.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, “but I have to go now. I have an – an appointment.”

“You’re not going to turn into a pumpkin, are you?” Bruce asked teasingly. “It’s hardly midnight.”

Gordon just smiled. “It was very nice to meet you.” He extended his hand, and Bruce took it without hesitation.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the billionaire replied with an easy smile. “But I have to say I’m disappointed you’re leaving so early. I was hoping to discover what more we have in common.” A mischievous glint in his eye. “Apparently Rachel seems to think there’s a lot.”

A faint flush rose on his cheeks and Gordon was fumbling with his wallet. “Yes, well…”

Aware all eyes were on him, he hailed a waiter passing by with his credit card. The young man stopped by their table in polite confusion. Rachel reached over and placed her hand over his.

“Oh, Jim,” she said with an eye-roll. “Put that away.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and a smile, neither smug nor condescending, on his face. “I own the place,” he informed Gordon.

“Oh!” Gordon said at the unsettling reminder of who Bruce Wayne really was. “Thank you. I’ll – I’ll get the next one,” he said carefully, his eyes daring to meet Bruce’s.

The younger man grinned. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Gordon grinned back before he caught himself. “Good evening, then. Rachel, are you ready…?”

“You go on ahead, Jim. Bruce will take me home.”

Gordon nodded. “Okay. Good night,” he said once more.

“Good night,” she replied sweetly, and he was gone.

* * *

After Gordon left, the conversation slowly trickled to a standstill. Bruce sat in his chair, subdued and sullen, like a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away. Rachel made several attempts at conversation, all of which Bruce shot down in quick succession, sighing heavily all the while. She could only put up with that for so long before she surrendered.

“All right, take me home,” she ordered.

Immediately Bruce was on his feet. Without preamble he had the valet retrieve his car and he drove Rachel straight home.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Gordon walked through his own doorway, it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. He’d been up for almost 20 hours straight, and he could almost hear Rachel’s admonishing voice in his head. _When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?_ Despite the weariness in his bones, a genuine smile, unbidden, formed on his face. _Not since Batman came on the scene_ would have been an honest answer. _Not since that man found me and promised me he – no, we – would change everything for the better_ – and Batman had kept his word.

Another sleepless night was a small price that he was more than willing to pay in exchange for the miraculous changes sweeping through Gotham. Besides, it felt a little unfair to him that while the masked vigilante prowled the streets at night, protecting Gotham’s citizens and their interests, Gordon should be ensconced in his warm bed. Batman never asked him to maintain a silent vigil through the night, and on the windy rooftop of MCU headquarters no less, but Gordon did it anyway. Not that the mysterious creature needed him, but Gordon waited there with the newly christened ‘bat-signal’ beside him, issuing its powerful beam of light up high in the night sky.

Gordon had a sneaking suspicion that the bat-signal and his late-night vigils were as much for him as they were for the Bat and the city beneath him. They made him feel useful and needed. However, more often than not, the Bat did not come to see him. Like tonight, for example. Gordon figured the man was busy elsewhere – he’d probably receive a text message or e-mail come morning from an ‘unknown source’ directing him where to find critical evidence or a criminal hideout – but still, he had hoped for a personal exchange of some sort, something longer than a thirty-second conversation, even if it ended, per usual, with the Bat vanishing into thin air. Once the man had actually leaped off the parapet, the shock alone causing Gordon to lose at least three years of his life.

Ah, who was he kidding? It had _thrilled_ him, he smirked. And _that,_ no doubt, accounted for the growing number of coffee-stained Styrofoam cups up on the roof, gathering like a stubborn family of pigeons on a window sill. Nearly thirty when he last counted, in fact. He hoped the Bat saw it as evidence and understood he had a willing partner in Lieutenant Jim Gordon.

Tonight, he’d waited until he thought he saw the first rays of light emerging from the far horizon. The Bat still hadn’t contacted him, and Gordon took that as an implicit dismissal and had headed for home.

The apartment felt cold to him. It was quite understandable seeing as he rarely lived in it, but it suited his needs. It was nothing fancy, but it was decent and it was home, a place to call his own. Rachel had come by once or twice, inviting herself over as was her wont. She had looked around and promptly declared the place more closet than an apartment. Gordon could still remember the mortification on her face as she’d realized belatedly what she thought she’d just insinuated. _No, Jim, I didn’t mean that!_ she’d tried to backtrack, her eyes growing comically huge at what she’d just accused him of being. Gordon had just shaken his head and ordered her to make some coffee.

Yes, there was _that_ , too, his personal sexual preference and the, ah, _inconveniences_ it posed for him, but he was managing. He accepted this burden as another if not-so-small price to pay for the greater good.

Having Rachel Dawes in his life was both a blessing and – he smiled fondly – a curse. Well-meaning, a little mischievous, and downright sneaky if she had a mind to it – she was a lawyer after all, he reminded himself – and now this business with Bruce Wayne of all people.

And earlier this evening – what insanity had possessed him to even go? – Rachel nudging him to meet the man. The evening wasn’t exactly what he’d expected, but all in all, he was glad he went. It wasn’t as successful as it might have been, but nothing untoward had happened and well, it was _nice_. He hated to admit it, but Rachel had been right. The dinner had proven to be a pleasant change of pace, something that broke up the monotony in his life – despite the terror he’d felt at various times in the evening. The stories _were_ true. Bruce Wayne was a certified force of nature, all right. Rachel had tried to coach him, and yet Gordon had been woefully unprepared to face the man. In spite of the horrible first impression he’d made, the evening had ended on what he felt was a positive note. The best he could hope for was that Wayne thought the same.

Jim Gordon was nothing if not a worrier, and yet it felt good to worry about the seemingly inconsequential things of life for a change. It felt… _relaxing_. No doubt Rachel Dawes was programmed in very much the same way. In her line of work, too, the lives of people were at stake. No doubt it was the very reason she probably enjoyed this new ‘hobby’ of hers, dabbling in Gordon’s personal life. She was careful not to push him so hard that he’d outright reject her, but she was quickly growing to be a master at making him feel uncomfortable enough to actually consider what she was dangling in front of him.

 _Bruce Wayne_ of all people! He hadn’t told Rachel, but he remembered the boy from that terrible night Thomas and Martha Wayne had been murdered. Gordon had been there in the precinct, and he’d even tried to comfort the boy. It wasn’t the first time in his life – and certainly was not the last – that Jim Gordon had been at a complete loss for words. All he’d managed was a repetitive _It’s okay, it’s okay…_ until Loeb had caught him and ordered him out of the room. He’d left the precinct that night dearly wishing he could have conjured up something original, something _meaningful_ , the _right_ words a suddenly fatherless boy could have found comfort and hope in. Bruce had been so young…

And now the boy was a man. Jim Gordon didn’t live under a rock. He knew _exactly_ who Bruce Wayne was, and he knew under normal circumstances, he could hardly approach Wayne without a reasonable excuse. Men like Bruce Wayne lived on a far higher plane than he. Rachel was _delusional_ to presume Wayne could even be remotely interested in a man like Gordon. _Ludicrous_. There was no other word to describe it. He still didn’t see what Wayne saw in him – _if_ anything at all. Perhaps it was just Rachel’s frenetic matchmaking working at both ends. Perhaps it was a curiosity with Gordon’s sudden fame and rise in status in Gotham’s hierarchy. Perhaps there was an itch to scratch – not that Gordon was planning on it – but whatever the reason, it just didn’t make any sense.

He shouldn’t be flattered. Not really. Gordon had lived long enough and known enough of the ways of men that sudden interest or, God forbid, infatuation didn’t always come with ready justification. Men’s odd ways of _amusing_ themselves shouldn’t be flattering. Not at all.

At first blush, Bruce Wayne appeared to be a complete imbecile, but by the end of the evening, in the short span of a couple of hours, the man had grown… intriguing to him.

But again, who was he kidding here? It was _damn_ flattering. And maybe during his weaker moments, just him at night, lying alone in his cold bed in the dark – much like tonight – he could think about it a little…

He shook his head clear. Rachel and her crazy ideas were getting to him again, with all her subtle and not-so-subtle hinting. She reminded him so much of Sarah. But where Rachel played at subtlety, or so she thought, Sarah had been anything but. _Hey, Jimbo, what about that guy standing over there? He’s got a nice ass, yeah?_ _Could bounce a quarter off it…_ God, he had loved her for it. He had no idea how much he’d missed that until Rachel had come along and had promptly inserted herself into his life. She asked him about his day and other kindnesses people often took for granted, not noticing their importance until they were gone. He wasn’t sure how he became her personal project, but it was nice, just the same, to see what she was trying to do for him.

He stopped by the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink to retrieve a half-empty bottle of Tylenol. He was tired. Four hours of sleep in one night wasn’t insurmountable, but four hours of sleep across consecutive evenings was starting to catch up with him. Earlier in the evening, he’d felt a headache coming on, and now the dull throbbing had chosen to spread across his brow. With a heavy sigh, he dry swallowed two pills. Rachel had seen him do this once, and where he’d been expecting a reprimand, she surprised him with genuine compassion. _You ought to take better care of yourself_ , she’d said gently, embarrassing him a little.

With a rueful smile, he walked straight to his room, shedding his suit jacket and hanging it up carefully. Next came his holster, keys, wallet, and belt. Then came his tie, and he threw it haphazardly across the back of a nearby chair. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed where he began unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his pants. He unzipped his pants and stood back up to kick them to the side. On second thought, he hung them up, too. No telling when an urgent phone call might come from the precinct, calling him to a crime scene, and he’d learned the cameras – and Mayor Garcia – were unforgiving when it came to his appearance. A police lieutenant resembling a hobo did little to instill trust and confidence.

He lay down for the first time in nearly 20 hours, letting his body go limp and his muscles relax as he sunk into his mattress. He tossed his eyeglasses onto the nightstand beside his head, and he was relieved to discover his headache was beginning to wane, but his mind, not yet ready to turn off, rehearsed the day’s events and outlined his plans for tomorrow. _Tomorrow…? Tomorrow was Saturday_. He could sleep in a little. _Perfect_. Hopefully, he could get a full eight hours, maybe more. But he should probably check in with MCU by noon. Just because he was hoping to catch up on sleep on a Saturday morning didn’t mean the criminal community would be as well...

His eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, and he found himself sinking deeper and deeper toward unconsciousness. _Thank God…_ He was seconds from slumber.

The doorbell rang.

His eyes snapped open. In one motion he sat bolt upright and reached for the loaded gun on the nightstand. One hand fumbled for his eyeglasses and he placed them back on. A quick glance at the clock told him it was now 3:00. He sat deathly still, listening for any sounds _within_ the apartment.

The doorbell rang again.

Who could it be? Rachel? No, she knew better than to be out on the streets at this time of night. Maybe it was his next-door neighbor, an absent-minded older gentleman perpetually locking himself out of his apartment. But at _this_ time in the morning? The daily newspaper hadn’t even been delivered.

A loud knocking on his door now.

Gordon rose from his bed and quietly made his way to the front door, gun in hand. Another knock on the door, this time louder, more persistent. Whoever it was determined to wake him, and he knew there was a young couple down the hall with a newborn baby.

He peeked through the peephole and… _holy shit_. On the other side of the door stood Bruce Wayne himself. The man raised his well-manicured hand one more time.

_Bang, bang, bang._

“Jim?” he heard his name called loudly. “You there?”

Gordon immediately opened the door and caught Wayne in mid-knock.

“Oh! Hello!” the younger man said pleasantly and as casual as you damn well please.

At that moment, it was all too surreal, Bruce Wayne standing in his apartment building’s nondescript hallway, and even in a rumpled suit and tie undone, the billionaire looked as handsome as ever, dark tufts of hair spilling over his forehead. Gordon’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

Wayne’s eye immediately shot to the handgun Gordon still gripped in his right hand, and Gordon could have sworn he saw the younger man smirk. Each man studied the other, and Gordon felt unaccountably self-conscious. Belatedly he realized he’d opened the door in nothing more than a flimsy pair of boxer shorts and a threadbare undershirt. Wayne was staring at him a little too intently, the look in the younger man’s eyes a world away from the imbecilic delight he’d shown earlier at dinner. Gordon froze. He could barely think above the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest.

The little smirk grew into a full-blown leer. A mischievous one at that. Now he knew where Rachel had gotten it from.

“I was in the neighborhood,” the billionaire said by way of opening.

Gordon stared.

Once again, Wayne’s dark eyes traveled up and down Gordon’s form. His gaze rested on the handgun, and again he smirked. Both men remained silent, each one waiting for the other to make the next move.

Wayne pointedly wagged his eyebrows at Gordon, making it obvious it was Gordon’s turn to speak.

“You’re gonna wake the neighbors” was the best he could come up with.

Wayne shrugged eloquently, cheerfully even. “Probably,” he agreed as he maintained his polite pose just beyond the doorway.

Gordon couldn’t help but think the man looked so out of place, so _incongruent_ standing out in the hallway. His heart was hammering in his chest so loud he could have sworn the other man could hear it. _What am I thinking? This is not a good idea…_ And yet he heard his voice saying, “You’d better come inside.”

“Thank you,” came the ever-so-polite reply, but those dark eyes betrayed the mischief playing beneath the faux somber surface.

Neither man moved. An awkward moment before Gordon realized he was essentially blocking entry into his apartment. He jerked at the realization and stepped to one side to let the man in. Without further hesitation, Bruce Wayne breezed in, eyes still fastened on Gordon’s, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Gordon had never really noticed until now just how cold and how deathly silent his apartment was at this time of night. The icy linoleum floor did little to comfort his nerves. Wayne was watching him still. As the host of the evening – no, morning – Gordon supposed he should say something.

“Did she send you?” he blurted out. Rachel’s meddling he didn’t mind. Rachel’s pity – well, that was a different story, and _this_ , if it was her doing, was going too far.

Impossibly, Wayne’s smile grew a little wider. “I invited myself. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” he said as a new and perfect fusion of relief and fear gripped him.

Wayne took a step toward him. “Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

“Excuse me?” _How presumptuous of him_ , Gordon thought. _We’ve barely met_. And yet Wayne’s eyes flickered to the darkened hallway leading to Gordon’s bedroom. Presumptuous, yes. But he _had_ opened the door and invited the man in. At this hour, what else could possibly be on a man’s mind?

Wayne took another step closer. “Or at least put your… _weapon_ away?” his voice deep and smooth sneaked into Gordon’s ear.

Gordon bravely stood his ground, earning a flicker of approval in Wayne’s eyes or something akin to it. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Wayne answered, amused.

“I mean, what – what are you playing at?” he hissed. As tempting as this was, he couldn’t risk losing his head now. There was too much to lose. It wasn’t fear holding him back so much as uncertainty as to what he would gain in return.

The silence stretched out too long, and Gordon wasn’t sure he saw it, but there may have been a flicker of doubt in Wayne’s eyes. Despite the younger man’s brazenness, Gordon thought he saw… uncertainty, too?

Finally, Wayne spoke. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

It was the uncharacteristic show of nerves and genuine remorse that finally put Gordon at ease. He’d been afraid he would forever be perpetually off-balance where this man was concerned. Now, he relaxed his handle on the fully loaded firearm at his side, and he put the safety back on.

“No, no,” he said. “It’s…” _All right_? No. It was far more than that. _Tempting_? _Petrifying_? _It’s… been so long_?

“I should go,” Wayne said and he reached for the doorknob to let himself out.

The billionaire was about to walk out the door when Gordon found his voice.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he said with a slight tremble. “Would – would you like to sit down?”

* * *

Wayne wandered through the small living room area, both hands clasped behind his back and with an air of disinterested curiosity that better belonged in an art gallery. Gordon stood a few steps behind watching the billionaire take in the rather Spartan surroundings.

Gordon cleared his throat, once again very aware of how little he was wearing. “I’m just going to…” Wayne turned around at the sound of his voice and faced him, all polite and civilized. Gordon swallowed. “Something to drink?” he offered instead.

Wayne practically beamed at him. “Water?”

“I have that,” Gordon answered in a loud, relieved voice. “Make yourself…” _At home? Comfortable?_ “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” agreed Wayne as he continued his perusal of the small space.

Gordon disappeared into the kitchen, but not before stopping by his bedroom in a mad dash to put on the pair of pants and shirt he’d discarded earlier. He hesitated before putting his handgun away in the nightstand drawer.

He sneaked back to the kitchen as discreetly as possible, taking out two clean glasses from a cabinet above the sink. He poured some water into both and returned to the living room. Wordlessly, he handed a glass to his visitor. Wayne took it gratefully and Gordon, after some internal deliberation, cautiously sat down at the far end of the long couch. Wayne was sitting at the other end.

His mind frantically sought for something to say. It was… generous of Wayne to find him here in his own domain, but Gordon was still a nervous wreck. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, his hand gripped his glass tightly, and he felt a little breathless. He consciously loosened his hold on the glass. It wouldn’t do to break the glass and cut himself.

At the other end of the couch, Wayne put his glass down and leaned back. In one smooth, comfortable motion, he crossed his legs and turned his body so that he was facing Gordon.

Gordon, hunched over a little, straightened his back and took another unnecessary sip of water. For a man who was the lieutenant of his own police unit and, according to the mayor who told him at every opportunity, _resourceful_ , his mind had gone surprisingly blank.

For the second – third? fourth? tenth? – time that evening, Wayne surprised him. “So, how was your day?”

The little smile playing at the younger man’s lips left no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing, but Gordon felt himself respond just the same.

“Long,” he said honestly, and Wayne encouraged him to go on. “I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours straight.”

“You’ve done it before,” commented the billionaire, neither sympathizing nor condemning.

“Yes.”

“You must be a very busy man.”

Gordon gave a wry smile at that. “I do my best to stay out of trouble.” Wayne didn’t know it, but there was more truth to that statement that even Gordon himself liked to admit. He had urges and desires and curiosities like any other man, but he’d learned to stave off temptation by burying himself in his work. He knew it wasn’t a permanent fix, but it had been working thus far – which only revealed the wisdom of Rachel Dawes in orchestrating tonight’s events. Every man had his limits.

He glanced over to see if Wayne was still listening, and he _was_. Wayne sat back on the couch, his posture inviting Gordon to confide. Gordon, for his part, felt a sudden compulsion to do just that. There was just _something_ about having the other man sitting on his worn couch, listening…

Wayne spoke, his tone laced with genuine humor, “Do you have a history of getting yourself in trouble, Lieutenant?”

“N-no.”

Gordon was not weak of heart, but his hands trembled a little and he put down his glass of water beside Wayne’s. He moved a little closer toward the middle of the couch and cleared his throat in a little cough. “I mean, n-not as much as I’d like.” Strangely his eyes remained fixated on the two half-empty – half-full? – glasses on the table before him. He supposed his next line should insinuate Bruce Wayne was a troublemaker of the highest caliber. Nervously he sneaked a glance at the younger man to see how his pronouncement was received.

An interested look passed over Wayne’s countenance, and Gordon made his decision right then and there. He moved closer to Wayne until their thighs were millimeters from touching one another’s. Gordon hoped he wasn’t coming across as desperate, but he couldn’t hide now. He let his face show Wayne whatever the younger man needed to know about him. At once Wayne’s gaze softened, and that patented maddening smile reappeared – only this time, Gordon knew it wasn’t part of a persona. It was real.

He’d made himself vulnerable, opened himself up to ridicule or rejection – all based on a mutual friend’s word that this was worthy of pursuit. It went without saying Gordon was scared to death. And Wayne? Wayne was looking at him a little strangely now.

 _Too late to back out_. Gordon moved in even closer, letting his hand rest on the other man’s broad thigh, feeling the warmth and hard muscle through the expensive fabric.

Wayne stiffened under his touch, and the younger man quietly lifted Gordon’s hand away from himself.

_Oh._

Gordon reached for his glass of water. Miracle of miracles he didn’t choke on the liquid. Confused and a little angry at himself – maybe even at Rachel – he silently berated himself, _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Yes, it had been a while for him, but surely he hadn’t misinterpreted any signals. Or had he?

Wayne uncrossed his legs and spoke, his voice low and husky. “Alfred warned me not to come over here tonight. Said it’s too late.”

Gordon’s heart sunk even lower at those words. _So why the hell are you here?_ he silently fumed, and his headache returned in full force. He was about to ask the man to leave when Wayne continued.

“Jim.”

Warily he looked up and to his horror, he saw sympathy on that handsome face. What if Wayne _had_ come as a favor to Rachel? But hadn’t Rachel said Wayne had wanted to meet him? God, he was so confused. And utterly humiliated.

“It _is_ late,” Wayne continued in a rueful tone.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly, finishing off the last of the water in his glass. _More than you know_. It was difficult to ignore the pain in his chest. The disappointment and shocking bitterness that came with a rejected advance – it was a physical ache within. How the hell had he misread Wayne? He felt like such an _idiot_.

All day long he’d lied to himself and denied he really wanted _this_ – whatever _this_ was. He’d tried to convey it as a mere favor to a silly, matchmaking friend… _It figures_ , he thought. He should have learned his lesson from that incident with Sarah long ago. The Fates had tried to teach him a lesson back then, and he should have stuck to it. And now here he was, trying to find a polite way to evict the other man from his apartment without sounding like a petulant child.

What had Rachel said? _Friends._ Dinner with _friends._

So foolish of _him_ to yearn for something more, then. He’d trained himself not to expect much and wasn’t sure what brought on this insanity. It was wholly out of character for him, and he couldn’t help but think maybe it was the new surge in Gotham – Batman’s doing – that changed his mind. He’d long given up on hope a few weeks after Sarah had gone, weeks that had then extended to years, but then the masked vigilante had come along and turned everything he knew upside down. So, so _stupid_ of him to think those changes extended to his private life as well.

Wayne shifted uneasily beside him. Gordon again cursed himself for daring to make a move. Thank God he hadn’t attempted anything more than that, else he would be even more mortified. But the _look_ on Wayne’s face when he’d touched him… Gordon’s face burned once more. Of _course,_ Wayne wouldn’t be interested in him. If Wayne was at all interested in other men – and to be fair, the man had shown no actual evidence he was – then Jim Gordon’s name would be so far down the list it wouldn’t even merit a second thought.

 _He’s mocking me_ , Gordon thought angrily. _Just like at their ‘friendly’ dinner earlier tonight…_

Wayne reached over and took the glass out of Gordon’s hand. Startled Gordon nearly dropped it, but Wayne caught it readily enough before placing it decisively on the table.

“Then again,” the younger man spoke tentatively, closing the space between them, “when was the last time I listened to my butler?”

Gordon closed his eyes. His heart was racing again. Two men sitting side-by-side so late at night in an empty apartment. He swallowed hard. “What are you _saying?_ ” he choked out. He had to know.

Wayne’s hand found his. “I’m _saying_ , Jim” – his other hand reached up to touch the side of Gordon’s bewildered face – “before we go any further, there’s something you probably ought to know…”


	6. Chapter 6

Wayne’s hand felt so large and warm against his face that instinctively Gordon turned into it, his lips and mustache grazing the calloused skin on Wayne’s open palm. Sitting directly across from him, Wayne swallowed hard, and the younger man’s eyes dropped down to their still-joined hands but just as quickly returned to meet Gordon’s searching gaze.

“Jim,” the younger man said hoarsely and, Gordon imagined, with desire.

The tables were turned now, and Gordon gained back all the confidence he thought he’d lost for good. “There’s something you wanted to tell me,” he prompted, uncaring at this point that both men could hear the raw hope in his voice. “Before we – we go any… further. You’d better say it, then.”

Something shifted behind those dark eyes, and Gordon’s own narrowed at that. Then Wayne laughed aloud at the same time dropping his hand from where it had begun to trace Gordon’s stubble-lined jaw. _False bravado?_ Gordon now wondered. _Nerves?_ If so… He slipped his hand free and laid it once more on Wayne’s rock-hard thigh, caressing him a little there in silent reassurance. Again, Wayne stiffened under his touch but this time did not reject the advance made. Gordon inwardly thrilled.

“God…” Gordon murmured. _You’re so beautiful,_ he thought. And Wayne _was_. So impossibly handsome. From everything he’d seen and touched thus far, Bruce Wayne was perfection. _So, so damn beautiful…_ Amazingly enough, some tension dissolved and Wayne’s eyes crinkled at the corners as they revealed genuine amusement at Gordon. _Oh, God,_ he cringed inwardly. _Did I say that out loud?_ Wayne was fully smirking now, looking more like the infuriating billionaire playboy Gordon had met earlier in the evening than the inscrutable stranger sitting on his couch. _Damn. Guess I did._ But his faux pas _had_ accomplished some good. Their connection was restored.

 _May I… Can I…_ “I’m going to kiss you,” he said instead.

Wayne still carried that little smirk on his face, and Gordon determined to wipe it off once and for all. He leaned up, raising his lips to meet Wayne’s for the very first time. He let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on the feel and taste of the other man. Wayne tasted of breath mints – _presumptuous_ , Gordon thought fondly, _damn him_ – and of something else that was inviting and intoxicating and distinctly Bruce Wayne. In the distance, he heard someone moan in delight – it might have been him – but Wayne was humming, too, the other man’s hands coming up to grip Gordon’s arms so tight it hurt.

“Easy,” Gordon murmured against the other man’s mouth, and Wayne groaned his response, and both his hands dropped helplessly to his sides.

Gordon’s own hands came up to cup Wayne’s face, the tips of his fingers lightly touching the stubble lining his lower jaw, trying to direct him where to go. So close to the man, he could smell expensive cologne wafting around them, a strong, clean, palpable smell mixed with sweat. The scent excited him beyond words. Wayne’s hands, restless, had gone to Gordon’s shirt, not quite unbuttoning it but gripping the material tightly enough Gordon felt himself being pulled even closer.

He followed and continued using his lips to get to know the other man better, just his lips trying to elicit long-forgotten sounds of delight and lustful approval. His lips working carefully but enthusiastically making up for lost time as his eager tongue slipped out and demanded Wayne to let him in. Gordon did not encounter much resistance there. He rose to his knees for leverage, and Wayne let him have the upper hand. The younger man lay gracefully on his back while it took Gordon a little time to maneuver his legs, knees, and arms into a comfortable position. He supposed he could have stood up and knelt back down, but he was loathed to dislodge himself from that firm, inviting body.

Eventually, he found a way to hold himself up by bracing an arm against the back of the couch and the other on the seat. He planted one knee squarely between Wayne’s parted legs, effectively straddling one rock-hard thigh. Wayne watched him all the while, clearly amused at the frantic positioning and repositioning going on above him, and Gordon could feel the heat rising on his face at his obvious, comedic lack of suavity. Finally, he was firmly on top and he looked down in half-apology, half-defensiveness. Wayne’s eyes were positively twinkling up at him, and Gordon had no other recourse but to kiss him and stop whatever jokes were currently brewing at his expense.

His glasses slipped down his nose. Breaking the kiss, he slipped them off and impatiently cast them in the direction of the coffee table. He heard the horn-rimmed frame land and skitter across the table. Grateful for at least that bit of good fortune, he turned back to Wayne to resume their activities – but Wayne’s hands had risen and came up to rest on Gordon’s shoulders, both hands once again gripping him not too firmly, but definitely, forcibly holding him back.

Gordon had no choice but to stop. “What?” It came out as a breathless demand. “What’s wrong?”

Wayne looked up at him. “Nothing’s wrong.” His hands unconsciously massaged Gordon’s shoulders before coming down to rest on his chest.

Gordon smiled, uncertainly. He leaned back down to touch his lips to Wayne’s, but those same arms stopped him before he could reach his destination. He tried again – and ended with the same result.

Wayne was watching him closely now, and Gordon in an effort to fight personal embarrassment, forced himself to ask, “Do – do you want to be on – on top – instead?” Conversations like this, he hated. To him, negotiations in love or lust felt cold and impersonal – but it _had_ been a long time for him. Maybe things had changed? Young men like Bruce Wayne probably had ‘expectations,’ and Gordon had no trouble admitting that tonight he was willing to accommodate whatever preferences the man had.

Gordon considered their positions. He’d climbed directly on top of the billionaire, effectively pinning him to the couch. Intense heat from the large, firm body beneath him seeped through his clothing, and his skin absorbed it greedily. He’d felt himself growing hard against Wayne’s thigh. Perhaps Wayne took that as a signal to lay down some boundaries?

“I can do that,” Gordon offered quietly. “I don’t mind.” But Wayne’s face was now a careful blank. Gordon blinked. Perhaps the man was testing him again? “What do you want? Tell me.”

Wayne finally spoke, “I don’t want this.”

_Oh._

Gordon closed his eyes. With as much dignity as he could muster, he carefully crawled off Wayne’s pliant form, and then once again, he was sitting on the far side of the couch – and Bruce Wayne on the other end. Gordon was no longer a young man, but he hadn’t thought he’d lost all ability to please another man.

He breathed in and out in an effort to calm himself down. When the sense of urgency had passed, he bit off angrily, “I think you’d better go.” The dull throbbing in his head came back in full force, and he cradled his head in his hands. _Shit_. In frustration, he got to his feet. He reached for his glasses on the coffee table and the world immediately snapped into sharp, painful focus. “It’s late.”

Wayne did not move from the couch. He cleared his throat, “Jim, I’m so sorry – ”

Gordon interrupted, “Go home. Don’t you have a – a butler waiting for you?”

Wayne looked down. “What do _you_ want?”

“If you have to ask – ” Gordon was thoroughly incensed now. “I thought I’d made it obvious.” His impractical daydreaming about finding someone with whom to share his life was just that – _impractical_ – but tonight seemed like something attainable. He was ready for it, and to have it snatched away like that…

“That’s what Alfred asked me.”

Gordon’s head started spinning. It seemed where Bruce Wayne was concerned, he would forever be two steps behind. “What are you talking about,” he gritted out.

Wayne hurried to explain, “When I told him I was meeting you and Rachel for dinner tonight, he said it wasn’t a good idea.”

“You should have listened to him,” Gordon grumbled. Frustration and the feeling of idiocy flooded him once more.

“But I had to know that – that you… wanted…” Wayne looked away, a little embarrassed.

It was the first time the man had shown some semblance of humility, Gordon noticed, but it was the last time he’d be played for a fool tonight. Bruce Wayne had met him at the restaurant, had barged into his home to stroke his ego – but it was Jim Gordon who’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. God, he’d literally thrown himself at the man and in doing so, had completely exposed and embarrassed himself.

“Well, now you know,” he said sharply. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

Wayne started. “Where are we going?”

“I’m showing you the door,” Gordon answered dryly.

“No, Jim, _wait_ – ” came the immediate protest.

“ _What_ ,” he snapped.

“I’m trying to explain myself here. If you’ll just listen to me – ”

His pride demanded he kick Wayne out that instant, but it was the police investigator in him that made him stop and listen. He crossed his arms but refused to sit back down.

“I’m listening.”

Wayne, possibly sensing this was his final chance, began to speak quickly, “Alfred told me not to come over here – ”

“You said that already.”

“What do you want, Jim?”

Stubbornly he refused to answer, and Wayne looked ashamed.

He came and stood in front of Gordon. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t come over here for sex. It’s not what I had in mind when I thought about seeing you one more time tonight.”

It was the last blow to his already frail ego, and his face must have shown it.

Wayne hurried to correct himself. He reached out to touch Gordon’s arm. “I mean, I _had_ to see you again. But I didn’t come over here for a one-night stand,” he said gently. “That’s not what I want from you. It’s not what I have planned for – ” he coughed “ – for us.”

This wasn’t the Bruce Wayne he thought he knew. This man was careful though uncertain. But… _us_? The word was said with such finality – had a decision been made about the two of them without Gordon’s knowledge or input? – that he was completely caught off-guard.

“Plans?” he asked. “Us?”

Wayne looked away shyly, and damn if that didn’t immediately and completely undo the tight ball of anger and resentment in Gordon. “Alfred thought I might have been jumping the gun a little. Coming over here tonight, I mean. It is rather, um, _suggestive_.”

 _Damn right it was suggestive. What else was a man supposed to think?_ Gordon fumed, but it did not carry any hostility.

“I apologize for my behavior at dinner earlier. You could say I was a little… nervous. I’m not sure what I wanted to accomplish, but I had to know tonight that this, for _me_ , was more than just an – an infatuation. Maybe I was testing you. Maybe I was testing _me_.”

At a loss for words, Gordon opted to nod sagely in response.

“You know Rachel would have both of our heads if… well, I think we deserve a little more than a casual fuck.”

Gordon looked away. He’d known the man for less than eight hours, and if this is what being with Bruce Wayne was like, he wasn’t sure he was ready for this whirlwind and chaos. “I don’t know – ” he began haltingly – but who was he kidding? He _thrived_ on exactly this sort of thing. Chaos and confusion were his job. It was his _life_. And of all things, he was actually falling a little for the man _because_ of his antics.

“Don’t you think?” asked Wayne. “I mean, what are _you_ looking for?”

Gordon answered honestly. “Same as you. But… ” He needed to be forthright, wounded pride or not. “But tonight I would have settled for – for… far less.” He coughed in slight embarrassment. “I’m sure you could tell.”

Wayne gave him an understanding smile. “I really am very sorry. It wasn’t my intention to – to, um, take it that far.”

Gordon accepted the apology for what it was. “So, what do we do now?” he asked. “Make small talk?”

Wayne smirked. “It’s not a bad place to start.” He glanced at his watch. “But it’s almost four o’clock in the morning.” He looked back up. “Go to bed, Jim. You look like hell.”

Any other time he might have been annoyed by such a statement from the other man, but instead, he smiled a rueful grin of acceptance.

Wayne smiled at that. “I’ll see you later today.”

“A late lunch?” Gordon offered.

Wayne appeared to consider it. “Hmm, maybe a little later than that. I’ll find you.”

Again with the mystery and subterfuge, but all Gordon could muster was a shy, giddy smile that Wayne instantly returned.

“I mean it, Jim. You look like hell.”

He headed toward the door, and Gordon trailed after him in a sort of daze.

“Good night,” Wayne said as he reached the door and opened it. “Or should I say good mor – ”

Gordon came up to him and effectively shut him up, kissing him one last time. Immediately Wayne’s hands came up to his face, fingers sneaking into Gordon’s hair and effectively setting it in complete disarray. Gordon’s head was spinning again, but he managed to rest his own hands on Wayne’s waist. His fingers, of their own accord, automatically mapped the muscular terrain there while his tongue nudged Wayne to open up once more.

The door was kicked back shut – by Wayne or Gordon, neither man could say – but Gordon’s hand had gone up to the younger man’s neck and was pulling him lower toward his mouth. Wayne groaned his approval, and their lips fused together, each man savoring the feel of his mouth moving in time against the other’s.

When they finally disentangled themselves, Wayne laughed a little. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Definitely more than an infatuation.” He laughed again. “Won’t Alfred be pleased.”

“Yeah,” agreed Gordon. Then he hesitated. “Your butler – does he know _everything_ that goes on in your life?”

“I trust him,” Wayne answered simply, addressing the real question at hand. “You can, too.”

“Okay,” agreed Gordon and he was rewarded with another brilliant smile.

Wayne opened the door once more to exit the apartment.

“Bruce?” He couldn’t help the exhilaration in his voice. It was the first time he’d said the man’s name aloud.

The younger man turned back to face him.

Gordon stood, both hands in his pockets. “Is – is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” An inscrutable look came over the younger man, and Gordon explained, “So we can go… further?” He felt an embarrassing flush rise in his cheeks at his presumptuousness. _In a hurry aren’t you, Jimbo?_ He silently chided himself, but he trusted Bruce would understand what he was asking for.

And Bruce did. He laughed out loud, and the sound carried with it a genuine sincerity Gordon had not heard before from the man – _and_ for once it wasn’t at his expense. “Jim, let’s just say there are a few things about me you don’t know that I think you ought to before we, as you say” – he winked – “go further.”

Gordon accepted that. “Yeah, okay.”

“But I _will_ make you this promise tonight: no more games.”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I like playing… _games_.” His face grew warm at that but he did not lower his gaze.

“ _Jesus_ , Jim,” groaned Bruce. “Now’s _not_ the time to be telling me these things.”

“Maybe there are some things about _me_ that you don’t know,” he ventured boldly.

Bruce gave him an admiring look. “Then believe me when I say I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Lieutenant.” And he turned to leave once more.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“Just one last question. When do you think we’ll have gotten to know each other well enough?”

Bruce smirked. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh?”

“Trust me. You’ll _know_.”

Gordon opened his mouth to ask ‘But _how_?’, but this time it was Bruce who effectively shut him up with a hard kiss. The younger man smirked, every inch the billionaire playboy when he received the very reaction he’d aimed for. Gordon stood in dazed silence.

“Go to sleep, Jim. I promise you, you’re gonna need it.”

* * *

A few hours later, Gordon woke up with a jerk. His head immediately throbbed and his body rebelled at not getting nearly the sleep it felt it deserved. The clock read 9:45 a.m., but he sat up in bed despite the aches and pains his body was communicating to him. The morning sun streamed through his open bedroom windows and filled the room with a bright intensity his eyes could have done without. He’d forgotten to draw the blinds before he’d gone to bed late last night – no, this _morning_ …

He’d finally crawled into bed at around four o’clockafter Bruce had left. He rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, and he blinked the last of his sleep out of his eyes. He reached for his glasses and cautiously got out of bed, tied a robe around himself, and shuffled out to the living room. The apartment was as silent as ever, but strangely enough, it didn’t feel quite so empty. He reached his destination and looked around the small room. On the coffee table were two empty glasses standing side by side, hard evidence that last night – no, this morning – wasn’t just a dream.

At that very instant, the phone rang. He trekked back to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?” he said in a sleepy voice deeper than his usual. _Bruce?_ had been his first instinct.

“So, what’d you think?”

It was Rachel demanding to know what he thought about last night. Convenient since Gordon at the same moment was in the very process of figuring out what he thought about last night, too.

“Miss Dawes,” he said dryly, running a hand through his hair to tame it. “Good morning to you, too.”

Rachel, of course, adeptly evaded his flimsy gambit. “What did you think?” she repeated with a hint of impatience.

But Jim was growing adept at this game, and he chose to counter her question with one of his own. “Weren’t you there?”

“Yes, Jim, I was,” came Rachel’s reply, dripping with condescension, “but since I already know what _I_ think, I’d like to know what _you_ thought about our little dinner.”

While Jim thought of what to say next, he cradled the phone receiver against his shoulder and began preparing a pot of coffee. Only after he’d painstakingly measured out an appropriate amount of coffee grounds and had poured enough water into the machine, did he answer, “It was… okay.” Rachel _hated_ succinct answers. Came from being a lawyer, he supposed. Or possibly – and more likely – it was a natural attribute of all women who liked to meddle in his personal life. He heard her sigh heavily on the other end, and he grinned in triumph.

“ _Okay_ as in…” she prompted as if he were a small child.

“As in _okay_ ,” he offered.

“Well, did you at least enjoy yourself?” she demanded.

He shrugged, forgetting for a moment she wasn’t there to see it. He used another trick he’d learned from his dealings with her. _Play stupid – or if possible, asleep or dead._ He let the silence linger on. A wave of static came over the line letting him know Rachel was on her cell phone, probably zipping through town running errands.

Finally, she huffed, “It’s a yes or no question, Jim.”

He leaned against the counter and waited for the coffee maker to do its job. “It was a nice dinner,” he said grudgingly as if he were admitting a horrible secret.

At that, Rachel made a satisfied sound. “So you should probably call him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want his number?”

Gordon made an appropriately affronted sound. “Why would I want _that_?”

“So you can call him and let him know you had a good time. And that you’d like to see him again, of course.”

“Again, why would I do that?”

“ _James Worthington Gordon_!”

 _Damn._ She’d used his full name and he knew he was in trouble. Rachel thought she had played her trump card – dangling Bruce Wayne in front of him – and if Gordon refused to rise to the bait, it would only wound her personal pride. Despite her ways of prying and meddling with his private life, the last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt her.

“The question is, mister, why _wouldn’t_ you do that?”

Gordon quickly reasoned, “Everyone else throws himself at the man” – he cringed a little inside – “so maybe – maybe he’s looking for someone who… won’t do that. Maybe he wants someone, you know, different.”

His pronouncement was met with pure silence, and he knew he’d scored the winning point.

“Open the door.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m standing outside with your breakfast.”

“Oh!” He rushed to let her in, and he stood to the side as Rachel barged in, holding a large paper bag in her arms and making a beeline to the living room.

“Coffee?” she called over her shoulder.

He answered, “It’s brewing.”

Gordon thought it was horribly comforting she didn’t bother stopping by the kitchen, considering the lack of dining furniture there. He had to admit it warmed his heart a little, Rachel knowing this. He followed her to the living room.

“What did you bring – ?”

Rachel froze mid-step, and Gordon nearly barreled into her. Her eyes immediately narrowed as they spied the two glasses on the coffee table.

“Did you have company over?” she asked, innocently.

Gordon’s eyes widened. “No!” Panicked, he sputtered, “I was really thirsty.” _Idiot!_ he berated himself. _Damn!_ He could have sworn he saw Rachel perk up her ears. She always swore she could tell when he was lying – and she’d been unerringly accurate thus far. _Damn it. So much for –_

Rachel was much too shrewd to address the issue at that moment. She calmly planted herself on the couch and set the bag down on the table. Gordon shuffled into the room and gingerly sat down at the far end of the couch.

“So, uh, what did you bring?” he asked in a conversational tone.

Rachel turned to answer when she cocked her head as if something caught her attention.

“What is it?” he asked.

She sniffed the air. Gordon froze. Rachel sniffed again, her brow furrowing as she did so. Gordon held his breath in fear and anticipation of what she would say next.

To his great relief, time resumed and Rachel reached into the paper bag and took out her usual, an egg croissant sandwich. She nudged the bag over toward him. Without leaving his spot, he reached over and took out a plain bagel with cream cheese. Then Rachel tugged the bag away from him and dumped out its remaining contents onto the table, a mess of flavored creamers and substitute sugar packets. She cleared her throat meaningfully, and Gordon immediately jumped to his feet to do her bidding. He went back to the kitchen and came back with two steaming mugs of black coffee. Rachel took the mug he offered with an expression on her face that spoke of deep concentration. Gordon warily sat back down, and the two of them quietly went about their business of ripping open packets of sweeteners and creamers and dumping them into their mugs, one right after another.

Gordon looked over at Rachel. “Thanks,” he said.

She shrugged. “Did you see Batman last night?” she asked instead.

Gordon ran the question through in his mind. A harmless enough question to be sure, but no doubt, in Rachel’s mind, meaningful in every way.

“No,” he said carefully. “I did not see Batman last night.” It _was_ the truth. “Haven’t seen or spoken to him for over a week.”

Rachel nodded to herself. “I see.” The lady looked a little smug, but Gordon wasn’t about to comment on it. “What time did you get home?”

Gordon resisted the impulse to squirm. _Damn lawyers_ , he cursed. Rachel was determined to get to the bottom of whatever mystery she detected, and he knew she wasn’t going to let up until she’d gotten the information she wanted to hear. He reached for the television remote control, but Rachel beat him to it. _Damn_. He _could_ ask her to leave or tell her flat-out his personal life wasn’t her business, but he couldn’t do that. She’d made herself a permanent fixture in his life, one that he wasn’t afraid to admit he needed and desperately hated to lose.

“Around two-thirty,” he mumbled as he stared and picked at his bagel.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t caught pneumonia standing up on that roof.” She turned and faced him directly, “What time did you actually sleep?”

“Four.”

“Hmm.” Rachel took a sip of her coffee. “Four o’clock in the morning…” she speculated. “Sounds like you had a rough night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he lied instinctively and then flinched.

Rachel looked positively shark-like now. “Lieutenant, that’s an hour and a half unaccounted for,” she intoned in full courtroom bearing.

“Yes…” he said cautiously, vying for complete honesty in an effort to derail her line of questioning. It _wasn’t_ a stupid strategy. It actually worked with Rachel… sometimes. “Yes, it is,” he added with greater conviction.

Amazingly enough, Rachel shrugged and did not pursue the matter any further. She sat demurely beside him as she nibbled contentedly on her croissant. A few minutes of companionable silence passed before she broke the silence. “Do you have already have plans for today?” she asked sweetly.

Gordon wasn’t fooled. The woman was tenacious. “I’m going to stop by Major Crimes around noon. Just to check-in.”

By ‘stop by,’ Rachel understood he meant to put it at least a half day's worth of work, but she had long ago given up on persuading him to do otherwise. “And afterward?”

Gordon spoke truthfully, “I guess I’ll come back here. Or I – actually, I might just stay at the office. Get some work done.” Bruce _had_ promised to find him, and Gordon wasn’t about to sit at home as if he were waiting for his prom date to pick him up.

“Wait for _him_ to show up?”

 _Damn the woman_. By ‘him’ she _could_ be referring to Batman, but Gordon knew better. He squirmed a little at that, which was undoubtedly Rachel’s goal.

“…I guess,” he mumbled.

But the lady wasn’t through with him yet.

“And how do you know he’ll show? I’d hate for you to be disappointed.”

Playing on his insecurities and doubt like that – Rachel was _very_ good at what she did, he had to admit. _He promised last night he’d find me_ was the correct answer, and it was what Rachel wanted him to say. Then she would follow up with mock surprise and confusion. _Wait, who are we talking about here, Jim? I thought you said you hadn’t seen or spoken to Batman in weeks..._

There was no other way around it. He sighed loudly in defeat. “You don’t need to worry. He’ll show.”

“Hmm,” Rachel said again. “Interesting. _Very_ interesting…”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “You can stop the interrogation now. You win.” Rachel, of course, looked at him in complete innocence. Reluctantly he asked, “How did you know?”

“Cologne,” Rachel answered simply. “A birthday present. It’s one-of-a-kind,” she informed him rather smugly.

 _Damn_.

They resumed their breakfast. A little while later, Gordon spoke again. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

“It’s just a bagel, Jim.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

Rachel frowned deeply. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Of course, she did, but she wanted to hear him acknowledge it. Gordon put the bagel down. “For – ” he paused, thinking of all this infuriating woman had done for him. _For barging into my life and turning it upside down_ , he thought. _For making me believe in the impossible. For prying and meddling and essentially being insane enough to introduce me to Bruce Wayne..._ “For _everything_ ,” he said, and he didn’t care his voice broke a little at the end.

Rachel looked genuinely touched, and her voice, when she finally spoke, was just as thick with emotion. “It was nothing a good friend wouldn’t do.”

Satisfied, Gordon sat back on the couch with both legs propped up on the coffee table – and when Rachel didn’t immediately order him to put them back down on the ground but rather relinquished her hold on the remote control and handed it back to him, he leaned back with a full grin on his face.

He looked over at his friend. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” she sniffed.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 01/09/2011 through 02/21/2011 on LiveJournal and possibly FanFiction.Net.
> 
> Many, many thanks to the amazing liadanhoward for the beta.


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